It's Getting There
by NemoDat
Summary: MD.  Let's put a few thousand miles between them in an effort to fix what the show broke.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** No infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

This story has two parts. The first part is inspired by Bob Dylan's "Not Dark Yet," the second by his equally as magnificent "Lay, Lady, Lay."

_Shadows are falling and I've been here all day  
It's too hot to sleep, time is running away_

* * *

Derek sat among a pile of boxes in his office. They were stacked on top of one another, some as high as his neck, but there was a method to his madness. To his left, all of his medical journals. Truth be told, he didn't _really_ need them. This handy little thing called the Internet provided the luxury of everything being at his fingertips. Before he could even dump the contents of a box ceremoniously on the floor, he could have the article in question found and printed. Forty pages a minute, impressive to say the least. But he liked marking up things he'd read. His textbooks were always highlighted and tabbed and he never managed to make a penny at the used bookstore. Mark's were in perfect condition, spine intact, crisp as the day he'd bought them. It used to drive Derek insane, but not enough to end his habit. So he'd packed up all the papers he'd read in the last year and a half and branded with his chicken scratch. To his right were boxes containing his framed diplomas, certifications and awards. Addison took it upon herself to get them all into the same type of frame – expensive and mahogany, and he never cared much until now. Packing them was almost a joy when they were all of a standard size and fit so nicely on top of one another.

So he sat there in his office, now completely barren except a pad of pink post it notes on his desk and the blue HB pencil he was tapping against the wood, repetitively. Rhythmically. He'd tap the eraser end, so the ticks against the desk were soft and muted and knocking on his brain. A glance up at the clock above the door told him it was 9:45. Fifteen minutes before her shift was ending, 20 minutes before he hoped to be running down to his car, 6 hours before he'd roll out of the bed in his trailer for the last time and 8 and a half hours before he'd be in first class, seat 4C in the aisle, ready to cross 3 time zones back to where he could disappear in a crowd of 19 million people with their own problems.

He sighed and rand the palm of his right hand across his face, rubbing the exhaustion and sleep out. His shoe-clad toes dug into the carpeting under the desk, and pushed against the floor until his leather chair rolled far enough back so he could stand up. He reached for the jacket he'd tossed on top of a box and grabbed a hold of his laptop bag's shoulder strap, slinging it over his shoulder. Before heading out the door, he grabbed the perfectly sharpened pencil, and threw it at the ceiling with some force. He laughed when he saw it stick, then waiver a little bit. Maybe the next occupant of the small room would appreciate the lone soldier hanging from the ceiling.

* * *

Determined not to miss her, Derek waited outside the locker room, hoping to corner her before she went in. That would also decrease the possibility of this lasting more than 5 minutes. After all, she still had to go in to change and grab her things and that would give him plenty of time to complete his exit routine. 

Five minutes later, she approached him, shuffling her feet against the floor. He could tell she was tired by the way she didn't even bother lifting her heels off the ground as she walked. Surprise coloured her features as she saw him leaning against the wall, fidgeting with the zipper of his laptop bag.

"Hi," she said timidly when they found each other face to face.

"Meredith, hi," he replied stupidly. She knew her own name, for God's sake and she knows he knows it too.

"Were you waiting for me?" She asks, picking at the hem of her scrub top.

"Ah, yes. Not too long, just five minutes."

There is no need for him to clarify. She didn't ask and probably didn't care but he's nervous. He doesn't ramble like she does in these sorts of situations; he just offers too much extra information. In his head, there's a distinction.

"Okay…" she hedges.

He can't blame her. It's been 39 days since the wedding of the year became the gossip event of the year. They've been careful to avoid each other. That's why there was a Meredith box at the foot of his bed in the trailer. Which he is getting FedExed to her, because he's a coward, but also because he can't conceive of keeping her things. There's a bottle of perfume, a pile of lingerie which he helped pick out and therefore knows its financial value, one of her three Dartmouth shirts, a stainless steel travel coffee mug and 8 bottles of assorted things he found on his shower shelf. That's also why he's currently missing 2 t-shirts, 3 pairs of boxers, a can of his favourite mousse, one left slipper and his expensive electrical toothbrush. Plus at least two boxes of condoms, and he's hoping if there is a God, he'll never find out their fate.

"I came to tell you that I'm leaving," he says slowly, enunciating every word.

"Pardon me?" She asks, suddenly completely awake.

"To New York, tomorrow morning. I worked it out with the chief last week, so I'm going. But I wanted to let you know, so you don't wonder why there's a new person in my office on Monday."

He even tries to smile when he says this. Because it's no big deal. People move all the time, hospitals have high turnover rates and when something is over, it's over.

"I just, I don't understand…" she trails off, "is it because Mark went back last week?"

He sighs, not wanting to extend this conversation any longer than what is absolutely necessary for the bare, factual details to be established.

"Yes and no. You could say it was the final push."

She crossed her arms over her chest, in a slightly defensive pose. He knew what she was thinking – that it's her fault. That Addison left, that Mark left and now he was going as well. The whole threesome was decimated by Hurricane Meredith who stormed through their lives and scattered them back to whence they came. Or Malibu.

"So, that's it? You're gone? Just like that?" She asks, snapping her fingers for effect.

"There isn't any good reason for me to stay," he replies, defensive himself. She has no right to judge his choices now. None at all.

"Oh? The Derek who was drowning in New York? The one who loved his huge plot of land and his fishing poles and wearing flannel? He's not a reason?"

She flashed back to standing next to him on the bridge, almost a year ago. Desperate to know that he hadn't changed, that he was the man she had fallen for, and he'd assured her that he was the same guy. She believed him then. When he wasn't hers, and he slept in another woman's bed and it was still easier than this.

"I survived that drowning event," he responded dryly, clearly implying that the one which followed is another matter altogether.

"Alright then," she says, not sure of what more she could add.

"I've been best friends with Mark since we were seven years old. He always got me in trouble, but when John Vargas called me a sissy in third grade because I puked in class, Mark beat the shit out of him at recess. And when I didn't know how to propose to Addison, he gave me his credit card and told me to go nuts. He's not the reason my marriage ended and I know he wishes…that there was any other way. But maybe there wasn't and I don't have it in me to be angry at a guy who sat with me when you lay there dying."

His words are frank and it disturbs her to the core.

"So you're following him?"

"No, I'm getting away from here."

From you. It remains unsaid but hangs heavy between them nevertheless.

Derek zips ups his jacket, indicating he's about done here, and very conspicuously checks his watch. He wants to make this worth his while. It's the last time he'll see her and he thought it would be harder, and he thought it would require a grand gesture, but now he's just tired. And he wishes he was anywhere else in the world and that his plane was today and that he'd sent her an e-mail instead. Some small part of him even wishes he had never come here at all.

"I love you, Meredith," he says quietly, looking down before forcing himself to meet her watery eyes, "I love you, but you made it very plain to the whole world that there is nothing here. In the last year, I lost my wife, I lost my best friend, my dog, the job I was promised and the great love of my life. And suddenly New York doesn't seem so suffocating to me. I miss my Mom," he smiles, embarrassed at how young he sounds, "I miss my sisters and their kids, and good pizza and a decent subway system and sometimes I even miss my expensive suits."

He shrugs at her, his features softening, "I don't know, I guess sometimes you wake up and you realize you're drowning and you have to make a change in your life. You saved me when I came out here, but now I have to save myself. Because I'm in so deep and I just don't have it in me to stay. Maybe I'm a weaker man for it, but there's something to be said for self-preservation."

Meredith swallows the big lump in her throat. It just hurts that much more. It's stuck, making it hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, not trusting her speaking voice.

"I'm sorry too," he adds generously, "but…"

"But you have to go," she guesses correctly.

"But I have to go," he confirms, nodding at the elevators.

"Okay," she says, steadying herself, "okay."

"You're a great doctor, Meredith. You're going to make it, see your name in the journals and be the envy of every intern and you'll be your own name and I'll be referring people to you for a consult," he says, and then taps her hands with his index finger, "$3 million right here."

She can't stand it. Not the warmth of his touch or the ridiculous kindness of his words or the love – and you couldn't fairly call it anything less than that – in his eyes.

"I'm, uh," she chokes on her words, shuts her eyes and blindly reaches for him, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. Before he can pull her closer, she whispers in his ear: "Have a safe trip," she wishes him, and then disappears into the locker room.

He's left standing by himself, a spectacle for his former coworkers and he's really beginning to hate this scene. The elevator down the hall dings and the doors open and he takes it as a sign.

God sent him this elevator and he's out of there.

* * *

She walks between the rows of lockers in a daze. She can see random interns opening up the doors and then slamming them. Logically, she should hear the noise of metal hitting metal but she doesn't. It's happening and she can't hear it.

Cristina's lips are moving, and she's saying something, probably calling Meredith's name. But Meredith passes her too, silently, and unties the string of her scrub pants, feeling a rush of air as they drop to her ankles. She steps out of them, and pulls her jeans on, zipping them up and hooking her belt through the loops. When her sweater is pulled over her head, she dumps her tote bag on the wooden bench and collects the dirty scrubs lying by her feet.

She can sense, more than see, Izzie looking at her quizzically, not sure if this is your typical Meredith weirdness or something more going on. Meredith ignores her too. Thankfully she can't hear a word. She knows what they're asking her, but she can't hear it. She wonders if this is some kind of functional deafness.

The laundry bin is in the corner, and she steps on the pedal, watching the lid lift in response. Her hand hovers over the bag, clutching onto the scrubs. It hovers because at the bottom of the bag she sees a pair of navy scrubs and his stupid, fucking surgical cap. Dirty and discarded and to be worn by some other man tomorrow. She drops her scrubs on top of his, and she hears the swoosh, as they fall against the plastic of the bag, and land on the remnants Derek left behind to torture her with.

She can't stand it. So she speed walks past her friends, cognizant only enough to pick up her bag before running out of the locker room. And down the hall, into the stairwell, where her feet nearly trip over one another in her haste to get down. One, two, three steps at a time. She's jumping and leaping until she's outside, on a clear night in Seattle.

Birds are chirping around her, hopping happily between the branches of the trees and she curses whoever gave her back her power of hearing. She wonders why they're not sleeping in their nests, why their chatter is instead piercing her eardrum.

It's a long way around the perimeter of the building if she goes to the right. Or about 100 feet to her car if she goes to the left. But if she goes to the left, she'll have to pass by his empty parking spot and so a 5 minute jog is worth it. In the uncomfortable late-summer humidity, with a large bag rubbing uncomfortably against her armpit, and her vision obstructed by the darkness and the traitorous tears which have taken up residence, but refuse to fall. Truth is, she's keeping them there.

The drive home is automatic, and she's glad for it. There's no need to think, to concentrate on the route or important landmarks. So long as she makes a rolling stop at intersections, she's fine. And it will get her home sooner and out of the confines of her car.

Ten minutes later, Meredith breezes into her house, pulls an opened bottle of white wine out of the fridge and downs a glass. The cool liquid coats her throat – dry, subtle, a touch too sweet for her liking. Alex or Izzie bought this cheap Riesling. Not Derek, oh no, he'd bring her an expensive Shiraz, woody and sun-drenched and robust. She breathes the bottle she's got and pours another glass, drinking from it greedily, her teeth scraping the glass of her goblet in a manner that's anything but graceful. Her left hand flips open her cell phone, deleting his name from the list. He's not in Seattle anymore, she reasons. She stumbles upstairs, throwing all his things into the bottom drawer and slamming it shut, like it's just burned her. The electric toothbrush is sitting in a cabinet under her sink and she throws it in the garbage. If he comes looking for it, she'd rather pay him for it than have it sitting there. He's not going to come looking for it.

He's not going to come, he's not coming back. She races down, erases his cell phone number off the board in the kitchen. Izzie and George won't need it anymore. He'll get a new number soon, one she won't have and then it won't be mocking her up on the side of her fridge. She rips open a box of Muesli and watches as the contents spill into the garbage disposal. She soaks the flakes with water and they disappear down the drain neatly, only leaving crumbs on the countertop. She swipes furiously at them with her hand, watches as they fall to the floor in slow motion.

Izzie will clean it later. Derek's not going to care. He can buy fancy Muesli at some organic New York store now.

The front door swings open loudly and she turns around, whipping her neck harshly, until a muscle pulls and protests. Tiny hope flutters in her stomach, soaked in cheap wine and heartbreak.

"You parked your car in my spot!" Alex whines from the foyer.

He's not coming back, not coming back, not coming back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews! **

No direct M/D interaction here, but I want to tell the story of them as individuals as well. I hope I can post regularly but unfortunately I've chosen one of the worst careers possible when it comes to having spare time, so it will be a few days between updates.

* * *

_Feel like my soul has turned into steel  
I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal_

Derek has a week off in New York. He considers it a rare vacation, until his sisters start arriving at the brownstone, one by one. The first one is there with a bucket and cleaning supplies and despite his insistence that this is a job for the cleaning lady he's already hired come next week, she starts to scrub down the house. She works methodically, taking care of the main floor first. The hardwood is soon gleaming, the tiles in the kitchen have their shine back and he can't write his name in the dust on top of the bookshelves. He's left alone in the all-too-large brownstone, three full garbage bags by the front door his only company. The second sister stocks up his fridge with health food items and veggie hot dogs, takes him out to an all-you-can eat Japanese restaurant and promises to come back on the weekend with several batches of frozen casseroles and her famous chili. They walk back to the house together, and she pops into the corner bakery, shoving bagels and low fat cranberry muffins into his arms. He protests that he doesn't really eat that much bread these days, but eventually gives up the fight. The third one shows up under the guise of dropping off some of his old things which Addison had returned to his mother. A couple of boxes of records and a mountain bike he hasn't been on in at least 8 years make an appearance. In fact it's so scuffed up that he's sure his nephews have been all over Long Island in it, but he doesn't say a word. Nancy is the last to come around, and for a moment he thinks he must be losing his mind, because it's pity he sees in her eyes. He knows she doesn't care about his sordid Meredith tale, and yet she's not gloating as he expected her to. She mainly seems bothered by the fact he's in his old home.

"Don't you think it's weird?" She asks him, glancing at all the trinkets that make it obvious this was Addison's house.

"It's not permanent, Nance," he replies with a sigh.

"Oh?" She perks up, turning to face him, "Well, if you're in the market, I can give you Margaret's number? She owes me a favour for putting up with her screeching when I delivered her third daughter last summer. And she's good – not pushy, she'll let you pick and choose what you want."

"Yeah, maybe," he tells her non-committally.

"What about Tribeca? It's close to NYU, and you've always liked it down there."

"I had some good times," he smiles, thinking back to his college years.

"So, think about it? And call me, I'll set it up for you no problem," she offers generously. He's not sure whether she's feeling guilty over her outbursts in Seattle or if she's truly concerned about his mental state. What man chooses to live in his ex-wife's home. With her things? It really was absurd.

Derek lets her make them coffee and distracts her by asking about her job, her oldest son and the beach house she was looking into in Nantucket. He makes a vague promise to stop by Mom's on Sunday, and Nancy seems satisfied. When her pager goes off, he feels a sense of relief, and looking at her, he thinks maybe she does too. It's been a long time since they've been close and too many things have happened between then and now.

He feels as if he's been abroad for entirely too long. Not so long that he became a native in that strange Seattle land, but long enough that this wasn't home anymore and that the people he knew and loved had changed. Maybe not changed, but they were tweaked enough so he had to look close and look twice to find remnants of old.

* * *

The first day he's set to teach, Derek wakes up 2 hours earlier than he needs to. He takes his time shaving, plays with his hair longer than any man should and picks at a first rate New York bagel before devouring his coffee. 

It's the second week of September, and the first-year medical students are still wide eyed and overwhelmed. They push into the lecture hall early, and he finds it strange to be staring at the back of a hundred laptops. Derek is of the pencil and sharpener generation, fond of three-holed paper and old-style binder tabs. He remembers talking to his grandfather, wondering how people lived without cars, TVs and microwaveable popcorn. He's now become his grandfather and it makes him just a little bitter.

"Hi," he says, aware of the tiny microphone clipped to his sweater. He considered wearing a suit, but instead elected for a black cashmere v-neck sweater over a crisp, white dress shirt. He knew that had an effect on women, or at least a woman. Even if the effect stopped working at some point. And she was on the other side of the country.

The students offer polite smiles in return, and he figures the ball is in his court.

"My name is Derek Shepherd, and you can call me, well, whatever you're comfortable with. Short of what you will call me on Facebook and Myspace," he grins and a few of them chuckle, warming up to him.

He tells them about his background, schools and positions he's held, cursory stuff he thinks a Professor is supposed to do in the first day.

"The good news is, we're on a pass/fail system. And you'd have to put in some serious effort to fail. It's not just my stellar teaching abilities – you've got years of statistics on your side. People don't flunk out of med school, not ordinarily. That said, should you choose to attend this class religiously, I will be happy as a pig in shit."

He doesn't know whether he can really say that, but he figures they're all in their 20s and he doesn't want to be too much of a straight shooter.

After handing out the syllabus, he shoots into a case study. No, it's not on the exam, he assures them, and they visibly relax, some even flipping their laptops closed, losing the security of Google.

"41-year-old woman, brought into the ER following an MVA. That's a motor vehicle accident for those of you who don't watch a lot of medical shows on TV. She was stabilized in the field, but has significant hip and neck injuries. She's assessed by two surgical teams. This should be pretty obvious…"

"Neuro and orthopedics?" A girl who looks to be all of 19, sitting in the second row volunteers.

"Good," he nods, "the hip injury is more pressing. She's bleeding internally and has massive tissue damage around her pelvis. The ortho guy takes a number of x-rays of the neck and presents them to neuro, wanting permission to proceed first. Neuro tells him the x-rays look good, but sometimes neck injuries of this type don't manifest themselves very well on an x-ray. Nonetheless, satisfied that surgery is safe, ortho goes forward with the hip replacement."

He is animated as he speaks, his hands motioning and he paces back and forth, not obsessively, but enough to keep their attention on him.

"Any guesses?" He asks, looking around the class, before pointing to the nervous-looking Asian kid in the corner.

"He renders her quadriplegic?" He offers, not really meeting Derek's eyes.

"He does indeed," Derek nods with a sad smile before continuing, "she's placed on a ventilator and stays in the ICU for a couple of weeks, then is moved to the floor and then to a rehab facility. In the next couple of years, she returns to the hospital with various issues….MRSA, bed sores, infected central line, you name it, she got it."

"Did she sue?" Somebody yells out from the back of the room.

"They always sue," Derek replies with a grin, "and sometimes, we even deserve it."

He lets them ponder this idea, that they may not be great, that they may be fallible despite what the shiny brochures have led them to believe.

"She decides she doesn't want to live anymore, and wants the ventilator removed. The doctors who have been treating her can't do it. The ortho guy lives with immense guilt…and a thinner wallet," he cracks with a wink, "the neuro guy wishes he'd been more assertive and the infectious disease team can't imagine letting her go after the hard battles she'd managed to win with all the antibiotic-resistant bugs she managed to pick up."

"Can they do that?" The first girl wonders outloud.

"They shouldn't," Derek's response is clipped, "it even smacks of paternalism. Fifty years ago, we thought doctors knew best, and this might be that sort of thinking rearing its head again. These days, we have come to accept the importance of personal autonomy much more."

"So people can make stupid or rash decisions?"

Derek understands the difficulty they're having here. They are told their job is to make people better. The idea that sometimes better is synonymous with dead hasn't yet taken hold, and maybe for some of them, it never will. He certainly realizes it's a possibility.

"Yes, but they are their own," he replies instead of picking a fight with a neophyte.

"What happened to her?" His timid Asian student asks, finally lifting his eyes to Derek's.

"She went to court and got a court order to have the ventilator removed. She died in about 2 hours thereafter and her estate collected a nice sum from the hospital for their failure to rectify the situation in a way that was in the patient's best interest."

They don't respond, probably because they hadn't expected the story to end this way.

"What's the moral of the story?" He wonders before answering his own question, "work as a team. You're almost never the sole physician on a case, not in trauma anyway. Double check, triple check, trust the judgment of your peers, or at least give it careful consideration. This woman didn't have to end up quadriplegic. Maybe she would have – maybe her neck injury was severe enough that this was the only conceivable outcome. But, maybe not."

They nod at him, apparently agreeing with his assessment.

"Isn't the point that you have to respect people's choices?" An older woman in the back asks.

"Yes," he agrees, glad that somebody is getting the subtext.

"Even when you think it's wrong?"

"Still their choice," he says quietly.

"Even when you don't think it's in their best interest?"

"Even then," he asserts, sticking his hands into the pockets of his pants, and leaning back against the desk at the front of the room.

"Even when you think you can fix them?" She pipes back.

He has to think about this one a moment longer than he'd like to. The right answer is probably yes. And if he's being honest with himself, it's also his answer. Not just in terms of his career choices, but the entire way he's lived his life. After all, he left Addison in New York even though he may have been able to fix things. And he walked away from Meredith on the grounds of not being able to breathe for her. But deep down, he still thought he was her shining knight, and he still believed he could make her better. After all, he is one of the people who broke her; shouldn't he be able to put her back together?

"It's tough," he concedes, "but I think probably even then."

The class adjourns until Thursday morning, and as Derek watches them empty out, young and naïve and entirely unspoiled, he's not altogether satisfied with the answer he's given them.

* * *

"She's nice," Alex assures her, when she asks if he's met the new Neuro attending. 

Meredith knows full well they've all met the woman, but nobody wants to say anything to her. They feel like they're walking on eggshells around her, and she can't blame them, not really. Bringing up the N word is bound to remind her of Derek and anytime she's thinking about Derek generally resulted in either tears or tequila, or some combination thereof.

But today she's been assigned to the new surgeon. Dr. Maureen Rodrigues, her nametag reads when Meredith finally catches up with her. She is short and slight, not any more physically imposing than Meredith. Her hair is short, curly and pitch black. She has a faint British accent, and greets Meredith with a soft smile.

Nothing about her is Bailey-like. She is relaxed as she does her rounds, and yet she's as quick in completing them. It's clear she has developed a system over the last 20-odd years and it works very well for her. Meredith figures the woman has been here for about a week and a half, and yet she knows the names of all the charge nurses, is familiar with the spouses of her patients and makes small talk with ease.

They make their way into room 4262, and Meredith stands next to her new boss as an intern recites the facts.

"Thomas Arpino, 28 years old. Diagnosed with stage IV glioblastome in late May. He had surgery, gliadel wafers inserted and radiation, but two new lesions were discovered three weeks ago. Tom was in a research study, but funding has been withdrawn since. He's been referred to us by oncology for a consult, but his family has informed us he prefers palliative care and wishes to be discharged."

His family has informed us…rings over in Meredith's head. She knows it's because he's having trouble speaking, probably unable to express himself clearly. Twenty-eight years old.

"Alright," Dr. Rodrigues says softly, patting the patient's forearm before turning to speak with his mother.

Meredith watches the scenario play out before her. All the family members look pale and exhausted. Their eyes are red, but they manage tight smiles.

Tom lies in the centre of the room, eyes opening and drifting shut again. His breathing is slow, his hair was shaved off for surgery and has grown back to a short buzz cut. He has a tattoo on his right bicep – an infinity symbol wrapping around his arm, just peeking from underneath the green hospital gown. His lips are full, but chapped, and although he must have not spent any time outside in the last four months, his skin is still deep olive.

The interns scatter to their assignments for the day, but Meredith hangs back, waiting for Dr. Rodrigues.

"The experimental drugs, they were helping him, right?" She asks in a hurry.

"They were prolonging his life," the older woman tells her frankly.

"So why can't we get him more? It would keep him alive a few extra months, give his family more time for him."

"There is no money in certain medications," she is told, "R&D is very expensive and very labour-intensive. If you have only a handful of people in this country who may need it in any given year, and even then will only use it for a short period of time because if we are being honest here, we know that they are almost always terminal, the drug companies can't justify the cost."

Meredith feels stupid, because she knows all this. It is probably obvious to any first-year medical student.

"It just seems so stupid. Stupid and pointless," she adds, almost petulantly.

"I don't disagree, Dr. Grey," her boss says quietly, "but we have an imperfect system in an imperfect world."

"Somebody else's greed basically sentenced him to death," Meredith concludes bitterly. She isn't sure if it's the guy's age or the togetherness his family projected, but something about this case is unnerving her.

"He caught a tough break. You know the glioblastoma statistics. It is almost never good news," Dr. Rodrigues tells her, setting down the patient charts she's been holding tightly against her chest.

"And we have to prioritize, and he's not high on the list," Meredith states factually.

"We have to do it every day."

Meredith sighs, realizing she's lost this battle. At least her loss isn't particularly costly.

Sensing that her resident's conflict, Dr. Rodrigues tries distracting her by offering Meredith a surgery this afternoon. The rush is there, as it always is, and she happily accepts, grateful for the chance to think about something other than rotting corpses that are technically still alive.

She spends the rest of the morning immersed in medical journals, studying the technique. It's her first surgery with the new attending, and she feels a certain pressure to perform better than usual. The procedure goes smoothly and she flies solo for most of it. There are no unexpected bleeders and she receives a fair amount of praise as the patient is wheeled into recovery. She informs the family of the good news, and crosses the hospital bridge on her way to the cafeteria.

At dinner, she is relieved that only Alex is around. He spends most of their half hour together convincing her to go out tonight, and then proposes they pitch in for a gardener because the grass and the leaves and the bushes are a fucking pain in the ass.

"Waste of money," she brushes him off, while hunting around her salad for the grape tomatoes.

"We could get one of the Guatemalans that all the neighbours are using," he points out.

"Please tell me you did not just go there," she implores, rolling her eyes.

"I'm just saying, it's always me. I don't see you girls raking out there. So, I thought of a cheap solution," he shrugs defensively, taking a long gulp of his root beer.

"Izzie bakes and I do the laundry."

"Once a month," he quips back before she punches him in the arm.

"All your boxers are going to be pink. Next month," she adds.

"Grey, Grey, Grey," he whines, pointing to the spot where she hit him, "this is how I make my living. We're talking loss of future earnings here!"

"You put your hands up women's dilated vaginas. I think you'll be fine," she smirks and enjoys his lack of response.

After a beat, he laughs heartily, and she joins in.

"You're kind of a bitch, you know that?"

"Well behaved women never got far in life," she says, winking at him, before the buzzing of her pager catches her attention.

Meredith gets up and throws the remnants of her lunch into the trash before gathering the rest of her things.

"Catch you later, Alex," she yells over her shoulder and heads up to Dr. Rodrigues' office.

Technically it's Derek's office, except that is no longer the case, and as she stands in the doorway, Meredith concentrates on all the new trinkets in there, the warm butter colour of the walls which has displaced Derek's former green, and the tiny replica of Foucault's Pendulum sitting on the right corner of the desk.

"You paged me?" She asks after knocking softly on the open door.

"Ah, Dr. Grey, thank you for stopping by."

"It's no problem," Meredith says graciously. Her right hand fiddles with the watch around her left wrist, nervous to be scrutinized by her superior.

"I'm sorry about this morning," the words fly out of her mouth before she's had a chance to think about what she wants to say.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Rodrigues assures her in a tone that suggests this is as far as the conversation would go.

"Okay," Meredith nods, relieved.

"I heard you worked a lot with the old attending, Dr. Shepherd," she says, motioning for Meredith to take a seat in the leather chair on the other side of the desk.

"Dr. Rodrigues," Meredith starts carefully after taking a seat, "I'm not sure what you've heard. I assure you, most of the time he was here, we were not together. It was a professional relationship at work and Dr. Bailey was responsible for our assignments anyway. And well, you've met her," she adds with a nervous smile.

The older woman smiles at her, clearly amused.

"I had no idea the two of you dated," she says to Meredith's horror.

"Oh, dear God," Meredith mutters under her breath.

"Dr. Grey, relax. I simply meant that I've taken a look at your file. Dr. Shepherd left you a glowing review. As you know, he is one of the best, and there was no reason for me to question it. You did an excellent job today in the O.R."

"Thank you."

"You're good," Rodrigues says plainly.

"Thank you," Meredith repeats gratefully.

Rodrigues takes off her glasses, setting them down on the file folder in front of her. She leans back in her chair and offers a welcoming smile.

"I have a spot in Neuro for a resident. I know you haven't decided yet, but I'd like you to at least think about it."

Meredith sits up, shocked at the offer being made to her less than 10 hours after meeting this woman for the first time.

"Oh, wow," is all she's able to muster.

"It's a strong program, and you've gotten more exposure to the specialty than any of the other interns. I also sense you enjoy it and could be happy on our service."

"Thank you," Meredith repeats, "and I have thought about it," she admits.

"But?"

"A lot of things happened, and I guess I found it easier to put this on the backburner."

"Well, it's back at the forefront. I'm not in a hurry, but I would like for you to let me know soon if you've reached a decision. We'd be happy to have you."

Meredith wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. That it took the Head of Neuro, with whom she shared a bed, leaving, before she was about to accept a position on his team. That she spent her internship mostly wandering around aimlessly while Alex found his vaginas and Cristina found her bleeding hearts and George simply fell into general surgery. And now she was being sought after, offered a position, and praised by one of the hospital's best.

"I'll take it," she says on a whim and it feels right.

"Wonderful!" Rodrigues exclaims and offers her hand across the mahogany desk, "Welcome aboard."

Meredith shakes her hand and offers and easy smile in return. She promises to stop by in the morning to talk about the paperwork. On her way out, she pauses in the hallway before turning around.

"I really appreciate the opportunity," she reiterates.

"You're welcome. And you'll be glad to hear that I've been taken for 24 years, so nobody will suspect anything more than work is going on here."

Meredith stares at her, unsure how to respond.

"That was a joke, Dr. Grey," she chuckles.

"Oh!" Meredith exclaims before grinning back at her.

"See you in the morning," Rodrigues dismisses her, reaching for her glasses.

Meredith smiles once again before leaving. She feels light on her feet as she approaches the locker room. She ignores the chatter around her while changing into her street clothes. There is a renewed sense of purpose she feels. Like somebody has given her a brand new start and she's able to leave all her baggage behind. A new boss who doesn't know anything about her prior history or her many emotional quirks, and better yet, believes in her abilities. Her best friend is the Cristina of old, as if the previous year never happened.

She wants to talk about this and share it with the world. Most of all, she wants to tell him that she's made it, that her mother was wrong and that all those long hours they spent together in the O.R. weren't for naught. She thinks he would be proud of her and she thinks maybe he'd even wish he were here to see it first hand.

He left four weeks ago, and the initial pain has been displaced by a quiet acceptance of her fate. But in this moment, she allows herself to miss him, and to admit to herself that she misses him. He is the single piece of the puzzle that's missing, the one person beside her who would understand the enormity of the last 20 minutes. She slams her locker door shut, wanting nothing more than to go home, sit in her bath, she and her melancholy, with a glass of red wine and her toes ripping through the soap bubbles.

"Grey, you, me, booze, plastic?" Alex yells out, holding his Visa card.

She thinks about it for a moment.

"Well, why the hell not?" She shoots back.

"That's why you're my favourite," he points back at her and she forgets about Neuro and Derek and figures her new start can start tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks, everyone, for the reviews. I really appreciate them. I want to take my time with this story; that said, we do need M/D to interact. This isn't this show.

* * *

_There's not even room enough to be anywhere  
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there_

Today was not a great day at work, Derek thinks. In fact, it was a shitty day. His first surgery got postponed when half a dozen serious injuries arrived to the emergency room after a bus accident. He lost his patient in the afternoon, which he hadn't expected, and he sat there for a couple of hours mapping every step he'd made. He couldn't blame the intern or the nursing staff. Logically he knew it was just one of those things – it happens, but it left him tired and frustrated.

He shuffled his feet, dragging his body up the stairs of the subway station. The strap of his laptop bag pulled down on his shoulder. He mentally went over the contents of his fridge, concluding that it was woefully empty five weeks after his sisters made their appearance. Ordering in is an option, but it would take at least another 45 minutes and his stomach loudly protests.

It's an easy decision, as he ducks into the Lebanese restaurant on the corner. He's the second person in line for takeout, and his chicken shawarma is ready to go in less than five minutes. He points to a diet ginger ale, and wraps his hand around the paper takeout bag.

He makes it home in less than 3 minutes, dumps his jacket and bag by the door and greedily unpacks his dinner. The aroma of meat and onion fills the air and he is aware of how much he's missed New York's food in Seattle. Even the street meat, which he never held in high regard had its place and time.

Derek never liked drinking straight out of the can, so he pours his drink into a tall glass, chucking a couple of ice cubes in. He sits at the kitchen table, taking large bites and chewing methodically. The crispy coolness of the cucumbers complements the spices and flavouring, and he eats slowly, savouring every bite.

As he reaches the stump of the shawarma, he walks over to his answering machine, beckoned by the flashing red button. The display tells him he has one message, and he hits the play button while taking another bite.

"Derek, hi," an uncertain voice he'd recognize anywhere paralyzes him.

"It's me," she continues, and his fingers unwrap from the pita he's holding. The small piece drops and falls on the table.

"I'm sorry for calling you. I know you're busy, or you don't feel like listening to me, or you're busy and you don't feel like it…maybe?"

She sounds unsure of herself and he can imagine her fiddling with the hem of her shirt, pushing her toe into the ground in response to the nervous tension she feels.

"So anyway, here I am; I got your number from the Chief. It's weird, I was walking around the hospital looking for Mark or Addison, thinking they would know but then, you're all gone. All three of you, and it's stupid I only noticed now…" she trails off before sighing, "Something happened last week and I've been wanting to tell you for a few days and I told myself I wouldn't, but the idea just won't leave my head. Crazy, isn't it?"

She laughs a bit at this point and he gets up, approaching his answering machine cautiously, as if she might spring up from it.

"Okay, anyway, guess what?"

He smiles at the excitement he hears creeping into her voice.

"I chose Neuro! The new attending, the one who came after…you left, she seems to think I know what I'm doing and I haven't managed to freak her out yet. She asked me if I'd join them and I did. And it's weird, you know, I thought I'd e nervous – what if I was making the wrong decision? But I feel fine. Good, even! Is that weird? It's gotta be weird, right?"

He grins; it's definitely weird for her.

"I mean, it's weird by my standards, right?" She continues and he laughs at their ability to be on the same wavelength. Too bad it's 3000 miles away.

"I've flown solo twice already, and interns look at me like I'm their boss. Which is good, but not as good as it could be, if I were Cristina. She has her minions bringing a steady supply of coffee and baked goods. Last week she got homemade puff pastries. I should work it more, huh?"

Derek knows it's not in her nature to torture her underlings, but he finds it charming that she wishes she could.

"So, what do you think?" She asks and pauses for a minute, "Can I do it? It's not that I'm like Cristina and I have to be number 1, but still, I want to be good at it, you know? And I think I could be. Maybe a little bit less Joe's and a bit more journal reading, but I can see myself doing okay. You know?"

He finds himself nodding, which is ridiculous given that she can't see him and it's clearly a rhetorical question.

"I'm sorry if I've chewed up 10 minutes of your day. I just couldn't imagine you not knowing…given how much you helped me. You gave me some really good cases last year and I don't think it was just favouritism. And you know what? If it was, please don't tell me and let me bask in my ignorance?"

She lets out a small giggle here and he can see her, teeth biting into her lower lip to stop herself from full out laughing. Her hair cascades down as her shoulders vibrate.

"Well, there you have it. Thanks for everything, for the time and the patience. And for letting me watch you in the O.R. and I hear you left a great review, so thank you for that too. You're a nice guy. You're a nice guy, Derek and a great surgeon, and so thank you. And I hope I can be as good someday. Or nearly as good. That would be okay too. Nothing wrong with just a million and a half hands. So, yeah, thanks. I'm going to go now, and you take care of yourself and be good to your interns. Turns out, they can even learn a thing or two. Okay….bye and…well, bye."

The machine routinely asks him if he wants to save the message. He does. He wants to play it 10 more times, or however many it will take until Kathleen tells him that he's becoming nuttier than a Wunderbar.

Instead of turning himself into an answering machine addicted hermit, he picks up the cordless phone and without thinking, dials the last number that called him.

* * *

"You have to do it like this, in an arc," George explains to Lexie knowingly, as she watches him toss dart after dart. They all hit the outer edges of the dart board or the corkboard lining behind it. Not to be swayed, George patiently repeats the motion again and again and Lexie is either too drunk to care or just too polite to tell him he obviously hasn't got a clue. 

Meredith watches her from her stool at Joe's. Her half-sister is almost always smiling. At first Meredith thinks there might be something to Cristina's theory that Lexie has got to be on Paxil. But after having lunch with her a few times she realizes that the younger woman is just cheery. Figures.

Once the initial awkwardness passes, they start greeting each other in the hallways, sharing surgery stories while in the coffee line, and even hanging out at Joe's once in a while.

At one point, Lexie apologized about having approached Derek at the bar. And eventually, at the hospital a few days later. Meredith pushed the image of Derek smiling at another woman out of her mind and assured Lexie that all is forgiven. She honestly can't blame either of them and there isn't a doubt in her mind that they weren't trying to hurt her. It was just a combination of three people who all found themselves in a shitty situation, and if Meredith has to be philosophical about it in order to stomach the idea, then she will be.

Lexie finally has it with George, and heads over to where the girls are sitting.

"I think he's drunk," she concludes, plopping down on the stool.

"No, he's George," Cristina retorts, cradling her pint.

Lexie furrows her brows and looks at Meredith, who shrugs in response.

"Another round?" She asks, because she's in a good mood, slightly buzzed, and it pleases her more than it should that she holds her alcohol infinitely better than Thatcher's other oldest kid.

"I probably shouldn't," Lexie grimaces, "but, that can be a regret I have tomorrow."

"Now I see how you're related," Izzie quips and passes their drinks down.

They accept the drinks, happily wrapping their hands around the glasses, and ignore the quip. Lexie turns toward Meredith, smiling brightly.

"Congrats on Neuro. I saw your name on the departmental list today."

She sounds completely genuine and Meredith smiles easily.

"Thank you. I'm really enjoying it so far."

"So, why Neuro?"

"Because she's warped," Cristina answers dryly.

"Cristina!" Meredith protests.

"Oh, come on!" Cristina rolls her eyes, but doesn't comment.

"I just did quite a few surgeries there when I was an intern, and I guess it stuck."

"With Dr. Shepherd?" Lexie asks, truly curious, not prying. Nevertheless, Meredith's cheeks turn pink and she nods instead of replying.

"Like I said, warped," Cristina comments again.

Lexie watches them do battle with their eyes, unsure she wants to be in the middle of this, and brings up a neutral subject.

"So, Bailey chewed me out for being a grand total of 4 minutes late this morning. Nevermind that I'm always on time and that I didn't even get home until 2 am."

"Those are minor details she doesn't care about," Meredith tells her.

"She hates me," Lexie moans and throws back the drink, "I don't know why, and I almost think she doesn't even need a reason. But she has it out for me. She's like, like the shark in Jaws! Dun dun dun dun! With the stupid fin."

"That shark was at least quiet. It respected your peace before it ripped your head from your shoulders and turned you into an appetizer. Bailey's got a set of lungs on her," Cristina points out.

"I gotta tell you, I'm glad it's not my ass she's riding anymore," Izzie adds.

"Oh, please, she was like mother hen to you. I never caught a break from the woman," Cristina replies.

"You antagonized her," Izzie shoots back and turns towards Lexie, while pointing to Cristina, saying, "she antagonizes."

Alex shows up behind them, ready for another beer, and decides to add his two cents' worth.

"Bailey? She's not too bad. You have to learn to avoid her."

"Vagina boy here certainly did that, all the way on the vagina floor."

They laugh good naturedly at the interchange and Izzie manages to bat her eyelashes hard enough to con Alex into buying them all another round.

Meredith waits for Joe to pour her drink when she feels her cell phone vibrating against her hip. She's relieved it's not her pager, and fumbles with the phone in the dimly lit bar.

212 area code. She sits up sharply.

"I have to, phone, have to take call, outside," she stumbles over her words. Thankfully, for them getting phone calls at all times of night or day is routine and nobody thinks she's strange for rushing out. Or at least, not any stranger than Meredith usually is.

She runs out the front door and flips open the phone the second she feels the cool, damp air.

"Hello?" She sounds breathy and when there is no immediate response, she worries he's hung up.

"Mer?" His voice comes across, soft but clear, and not at all like he's that far away.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," she replies immediately.

"Is this a bad time? You're out, right?"

She knows he can hear the background buzz of the bar, but she's not about to let him use that as an excuse to hang up.

"I'm out, but it's not a bad time at all. Just having a drink at Joe's."

"Or a couple?" He chuckles and she doesn't sense any judgment.

"Or three," Meredith admits.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you that I got your message. So thank you and you're welcome."

"You're welcome," she says softly, waiting for him to go on. It's not for lack of anything to say, but more the inability to form a coherent sentence, or thought for that matter.

"Ah, okay, well, it was good to hear from you."

She senses he's transitioning to a goodbye, and suddenly feels her temples throbbing with a quiet desperation.

"How's the weather in Manhattan?" She spits out, feeling particularly stupid.

"The weather? Oh, well, it's autumn," he states like it's obvious, "you know, beautiful."

"Yeah, fall in New England is something else," she agrees, thinking back to the palette of colours that filled the Dartmouth campus.

"It really is."

"I bet you won't be so chipper when winter rolls around," she teases.

"Oh, you think so?"

"God yes," she groans, "the cold wind, nasty slushy sidewalks, wet socks…no good can come of that."

"I do hate snow. But I don't know…I'm kind of looking forward to the new year this year."

"Are you?" She asks, her headache worsening.

"Yeah, it's a good start. Gives you time to think and sit back, then it's spring and everything is new. So I'm looking forward to that, I think."

Without me, she thinks bitterly. And she knows she has no right to feel bitterness towards this man who loved her and wished there was any other way for them to still be together. It's therefore absurd that she should be envious of him looking forward to change in his life. Especially given how excited she was about her own fresh start just days ago.

"Oh, okay," she finally says.

"Meredith…" he trails off, sensing he's said something to upset her. He's familiar enough with her responses to know she's retreating inside herself.

"No, no, it's good. A new year is good. I get it. I really do, Derek."

His name still rolls off her tongue easily. A quick mental calculation tells her she hasn't seen him or talked to him in about 6 weeks. It's been a long time and it's been a lonely time, and yet she's kept busy with work and drinking and work and….yeah, she was probably warped.

"Okay, well, I'm ha-" he stops mid sentence, and starts fresh, "I'm glad for you. Neuro is good, and you're good. You're i good /i ," he emphasizes."

"I…thank you."

"I should- it's almost 1 am. Unfortunately I'm the new Prof and we get the shitty 9 am lecture times."

"Hey, I'd die for a 7 am wake up time," she protests.

"That's true. You always did whine and roll over ten times in the morning."

It's just a stupid, inconsequential memory, but it leaves them both with nothing to say. He's thinking of her bed in Seattle, with the soft, deep red sheets and her dark blonde hair covering both their pillows. She's thinking of the hardness of his body under hers, the buzzing of the alarm and the way his hands gripped her hips, silently suggesting a better way to spend their waking moments.

"Yeah," she finally says softly, "so, sleep then, right?"

She doesn't want him to hang up or to sleep and she understands that this may be the last time she'll talk to him. Again.

"I will, yeah. Take care of yourself, Mer. And good luck with Neuro. Kick ass," he adds to lighten the mood.

The line goes dead shortly after that and she's left standing with the phone in her hand, still open. Panic envelopes her. She didn't feel it when he came to say goodbye in the hospital, weeks ago. Then, the sheer shock of his words made it easy for her to concentrate on other things: surprise, anger, self-loathing and the very fun blame game that ensued. It didn't cross her mind at that point that she would miss him to the point of incapacitation, but it certainly occurred to her now. She had his voice stuck in her head, the sound of her name spilling from his lips, his phone number illuminated on her phone's screen.

The door of the bar opens and a couple spills out, heading for their car. The lights inside illuminate the sidewalk and then it is dark again, and she feels sick, like she's had too much to drink and really needs to lie down, preferably on her bathroom floor. She has no choice but to head in and bug whoever was still sober to give her a ride. She slips the phone back in her pocket. Warped, Meredith. Really warped, she thinks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for the reviews. I have a great time reading them and I appreciate you taking the time. For the people who wanted to know if this was going to end up M/D - absolutely. I can't imagine them any other way anymore._  
_**

* * *

_Well my sense of humanity has gone down the drain  
Behind every beautiful thing there's been some kind of pain _

"Can you spare an intern?" Derek asks the Chief Resident, who is furiously signing charts at the nursing station on the 4th floor.

The younger man nods, without looking up, "Sure, take Collins – he'll be eternally grateful to you for getting him out of the pit."

Derek nods and has the intern paged. He hasn't really bothered with getting to know his new co-workers. Given how things ended up in Seattle, he figures it's probably a good thing. Besides, his spare time is spent at the university and he's struck a companionable peace with Mark. They go for drinks together, catch the odd baseball game on the weekend, and have even played a round of golf at Mark's country club. Derek has no idea why he's no longer bothered by the past, except that maybe Mark really is his best friend, or his only friend. So he's hesitant to hold a grudge, and the devil on his shoulder keeps reminding him that Mark hasn't exactly ended up with a great deal in the end. Last he heard, Addison was sharing a bed with some quack in L.A.

It's therefore anyone's guess as to who Collins actually is. Derek thinks it's the blonde, thin guy whom he has pegged as a total stoner. But he's worked with him once, and the kid was knowledgeable and competent, just not willing to stay 4 hours after his shift ended. Derek's first instinct was to call him lazy, but when he sat down and thought about it, it occurred to him that maybe the kid just has his priorities straight.

"Dr. Shepherd," his right guess yells out, rounding the corner.

"Yes, Dr. Collins, I've requested you to join me on a consult. You free?"

"Yes! I can't suture anymore, I just can't. They never want me anyway – always ask for the plastics resident on call. If I wanted to deal with that, I'd have stayed in California."

Derek smiles politely at the commentary, but doesn't add to it. Instead, he passes off the patient chart into the young man's hands, and starts walking down the hall.

"James Buchner, 32 years old from somewhere upstate. He was referred to us by the medical college at Cornell. He's about 420 lbs and has had debilitating lower back pain for the better part of a decade. His chart tells us that he's got degeneration of disk spaces in lumbar spine," Derek gives Collins the cursory background information as they get off the elevator and continue down, past the many patient rooms on either side of the corridor.

"What's the consult for?"

"He's had a number of procedures done and while some have alleviated his pain temporarily, nothing has worked long-term. My plan is to an anterior lumbar interbody fusion, but because there is a significant and painful recovery period involved, we need to get a better idea of whether the patient is up to the challenge."

"And I get to scrub in?" He asks hopefully.

"If Mr. Buchner wants the surgery, you get to scrub in," Derek confirms, pushing through the door to the private room.

"Derek Shepherd," he says, extending his hand to the large man sitting up in the hospital bed, "I'm the neurosurgeon that Dr. Pallet at Cornell mentioned to you."

"Hi, Dr. Shepherd," the young man says pleasantly, then motions at the woman sitting in a chair next to the bed, "This is my Mom, Florence."

"Please call me Flo," she says with a chuckle, "and don't hold the name against my parents. Bless their souls," she adds, making the sign of the cross.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Flo and…"

"James," the patient supplies.

"Flo and James, then. This is Dr. Collins, and he's a surgical intern who will be joining me on your case."

They exchange pleasantries, and Derek is amused at how small-town hospital this room suddenly feels. While Collins introduces himself, Derek studies Flo, and can't help noticing she is morbidly obese as well. She has a loose flower-printed dress on, and beads of sweat dot her forehead, even though the hospital is well air conditioned.

Derek takes a seat in the second spare chair, realizing that formalities have long ago flown out the window. In fact, Flo reminds him of a patient he had as a 2nd year resident, who brought him a glazed ham as thanks for his services.

"As Dr. Pallet mentioned to you, the procedure I'm doing is not overly complicated, but there are a few things you should be aware of. Generally, my patients stay in the hospital for about 4-5 days afterwards, but for a man at your weight, you maybe looking at around a week or more. The main risk is major blood loss, but I've had good success using the endoscopic method, so hopefully we can avoid the missteps."

"Dr. Pallet told us you were the best," Flo says, beaming.

"Well, he is very kind," Derek laughs, then grows more serious, "One thing we need to discuss is the post-operative period. It is really important to start walking and doing a set of exercises with a physiotherapist, as soon as medically possible, and on a consistent basis."

"And you think I won't do it?" James guesses, but there is nothing accusatory in his tone.

"Your chart indicates that you live a relatively sedentary lifestyle," Derek states diplomatically, "so that is a consideration insofar as the surgery is concerned."

"He does a lot of stuff," Flo interjects, "but he just doesn't leave the house."

"Oh?" Collins asks, and Derek has to hand it to him – either he's a great actor or he's genuinely interested in how their patient spends his days.

"I make soapstone carvings," James says softly, "many of them for custom chess sets. People sometimes even send me their pictures to make the King or Queen. I also like to make Native American carvings. My grandfather was Iroquois," he states proudly.

"You make a living this way?" Derek asks.

"On Ebay!" Flo exclaims, "It's amazing that thing, you can buy pretty much anything! I once saw this fella selling his used socks and somebody bought them," she says knowingly.

"What about a Cheetoh that looked like Jesus?" Collins adds, laughing.

"I think that was Britney's child, not the son of God," Derek adds dryly.

"It's not a fortune, but it's better than sitting on social security," James says, "some months, I can clear as much as $2500."

"That is very respectable," Derek agrees.

"And I live with my Mom," James continues, although a light blush colours his cheeks, "so no rent and all."

"That's a pretty sweet deal," Collins observes, his mind focused on his enormous student debt and the dump of an apartment he lives in.

"Oh, I don't know," Flo says thoughtfully, "James is a hard worker, and he never complains. He's an optimist, even as a little boy, when the other kids teased him, he'd come and say 'Mom, it's not so bad, I have 2 friends who are nice to me.' I like having him with me, but I think it would be better for him to get out sometimes, you know?"

Her eyes are watering and Derek's respect for her grows. It's hard to want the best for somebody, when that best may leave you without your only companion. Suddenly he feels a strong, immutable kinship with the woman, and everything screams that the surgery he planned is wrong, wrong, wrong for this family. He rests his forearms on his legs, leaning forward,

"James, have your other doctors suggested a weight loss program for you?"

"Only since I was eight," James tells him, laughing heartily, "thing is, Doc, I was never skinny. And God help me, I like food. I get up in the morning and I want my bacon and eggs and I appreciate a loaf of fine bread and I like my food a little on the salty side with a dessert to follow. I don't think I could ever look like you, no offense."

"You i are /i a very good looking young man," Flo assures Derek, as if he might take offense.

Derek laughs, charmed by the two of them and their quirky ways.

"I meant has anyone mentioned weight loss to combat your back problems specifically? I am not talking about radical loss where you get down to my size. You are right – it's probably not realistic for you, and striving for it would just lead to a lot of frustration and grief for all involved."

"So I could lose 150 lbs and that could make a difference?"

"It should. The more you lose, the more of a difference it would make. You don't need to be thin – plenty of overweight men have no back problems. But you do need to reduce your weight from your current level."

"I just don't know how, it's never worked before," James tells him factually.

"Have you considered a gastric bypass?" Collins asks.

Normally, Derek would not encourage his interns to suggest regimens of treatment on their own, because half the time that leads to him having to backtrack in an embarrassing fashion and explaining to the patients' families why it is that the intern's approach would likely kill their loved one. However, Collins seems genuinely interested in helping James and the bottom line is that his suggestion is fair.

"Stapling my stomach?" James asks fearfully.

"His doctor back in Ellicotville said it was really dangerous if you can't control your portions," Flo says, "so we thought, this isn't a good idea for James, you know?"

"There are some good programs here in New York, where you do part of your recovery in a group setting. You'd be with people like yourself, and draw support from them. I won't lie to you: it's very difficult to change your lifestyle overnight. But if you think it's something that you may be able to do, with the right support and the right plan, I could probably help you get a spot in one of the groups."

James turns to his Mom and waits for a response.

"And then he wouldn't need this big surgery?" She asks.

"I'm hoping we could avoid it entirely, yes," Derek affirms.

"And we could be home in time for Christmas? I sing in the choir and James fills most of his Ebay orders then."

"You'd be home well in time for Rudolf," Derek smiles.

"Maybe…do you think I could do it?" James asks.

"I don't know," Derek tells him honestly, "but if you are, I will be more than happy to do what I can to help you out."

"Could I have a double Big Mac with supersize fries one last time?"

Flo laughs and smacks him in the chest with her large leather purse.

"I think that could be arranged," Derek laughs along with them, "Dr. Collins here is excellent at running errands," he winks at his intern.

* * *

Meredith leans against the railing on the bridge in the hospital. She opted for a turkey club sandwich, but finds it tasteless. She picks at the bread, remembering the fuss she'd create as a child, until Thatcher just gave up and cut away the edges. Once he left, she quickly got accustomed to eating the entire slice, because Ellis Grey was not a woman who would entertain silly whims, not even from a 6-year old.

The wilted lettuce crunches sadly as she bites into it, and she senses a pair of eyes watching her disapprovingly. Tilting her head to the right, she finds Bailey staring her down, hands on her hips, like Mother Superior in a nunnery.

"Lunch break," Meredith says as soon as she swallowed the small bite.

"Lunch? That thing? Nuh-uh," Bailey shakes her head.

"What? Why? It's got meat, cheese, lettuce and bread. I've hit all the major food groups."

"I don't know what animal, if any, that meat came from. Processed cheese is the polite name for pale yellow parchment paper, and that lettuce hasn't seen sunlight, ever. Don't even get me started on the bread. Fools bleaching the thing, we should have them arrested."

She snatches the remnants of the sandwich from Meredith's hands and holds it behind her back.

"I have 25 minutes. Just enough time to go across the street and have a cup of homemade soup and a whole grain bagel. If you don't manage to annoy me on the way, I might let you butter it."

"Dr. Bailey, this really isn't necessary."

"If you wasn't so skinny so that the wind can blow you over, it wouldn't be. However, you're a twig. Let's go."

"I've already taken my lunch break," Meredith protests, unsure that she can spend a half an hour across the table from her boss, scrutinizing her every move.

"See what you've done? Now we only got 24 minutes. You're gonna have to say bye to the dreams of that creamy butter smothering your bread, melting into the toasted crevices, and giving it that nutty flavour."

Meredith watches her, buggy eyed. Bailey, for all her maternal instincts, has always scared the shit out of her. And when your boss offers you a longer lunch hour, shouldn't you just accept it and go with the flow?

"Okay," Meredith finally agrees, "but you don't have to pay for me."

"Who said I was gonna pay for you?" Bailey rolls her eyes and walks past Meredith to the elevators.

Meredith runs to catch up with her, and they walk to the café around the corner in a companionable silence. It's a fresh fall day outside, and Meredith struggles to catch her hair, which is blowing in the wind. She ties it up in a haphazard bun, and move ahead to hold the door open for her boss. Bailey is familiar with the menu and orders for both of them. She surprises Meredith by throwing in a little packet of whipped butter

"Like I was going to spare you the calories!" She exclaims.

They wait for the food to be ordered, and Bailey spreads her hands on the table, observing Meredith closely.

"What are you doing this Sunday?"

"I'm wor-"

"Don't you dare say you're working, I know you're not. I have all the schedules and I know everything. You people think I must be blind or stupid. Well I'm neither, and I have people and they tell me things."

Meredith swallows and sinks lower in the vinyl booth where she's sitting.

"Okay, then I don't know what I'm doing this Sunday."

"That works out perfectly – you'll come and have lunch with my family," Bailey says authoritatively.

"Me?" Meredith squeaks out, "or i you /i as in all of us like Izzie and George and Cristina and Alex and-"

"I'm sure there are a few residents down in Psychiatry you've forgotten," Bailey sounds amused, although her face betrays no such thing, "but I meant only you."

"Why?"

"Because," Bailey speaks slowly, as if to a child, "None of the rest of them go all invisible when they turn sideways. And I'm making fried chicken. And garlic mashed potatoes, and gravy that will go right to your behind."

"I could use some more behind," Meredith grins in spite of herself.

"Mmmmhmm, I'll even mousse up my hair for you if it would help" Bailey agrees and then it's settled. Meredith can't help but feel uncomfortable and even embarrassed. Has it gotten so bad that she has her supervisors force feeding her and watching over her like?

Their food arrives and they stir the soup with their spoons to help cool it down faster. The veggies are chunky and warm, and the liquid coats Meredith's throat pleasantly. The faint tang of tomatoes rolls over her tongue and she happily chases the noodles around the bowl.

"How are you doing with your sister around?" Bailey asks gently, when there are only a few spoonfuls of soup left.

"Lexie?" Meredith asks, not because she's confused about who they're talking about, but because she knows that the question will buy her a few more moments so she can properly formulate her answer.

Bailey just nods patiently, and her eyes take on a softness that was missing earlier.

"Surprisingly…well," Meredith says eventually, then fishes through the remaining soup to catch a piece of carrot before continuing, "she's very young. Not that much younger than me, but just in terms of, life, I guess?"

"It's good to be young. It's when it hasn't hit you yet, you know what I mean, Grey?"

"Life hasn't ruined you?" She guesses.

"Well, I wasn't going to put it like that, exactly."

"Don't you think it's a cop-out?" Meredith asks. "That the world is big and bad and it barrels right over us leaving dust in its wake? Maybe we just do that all on our own."

"You're very self aware today," Bailey replies with a smile.

"Well but it's true, isn't it? We control our fate, don't we?"

"So you control yours?" Bailey asks, and Meredith can sense some doubtfulness in her tone.

"Yes," she says defiantly.

"Good, then keep controlling it. It's Sunday, 1 pm sharp," she says, cornering Meredith in a trap of her own making.

* * *

Meredith stands at the doorway to the Bailey house, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It's a frighteningly normal house, with a very neat trim and flowers spilling from their flowerbeds beneath the windows. It's all very cheerful and inviting, and yet she can't quite bring herself to ring the doorbell. She raises her closed fist up once, twice, three times before she knocks quickly, hoping they won't hear her. If nobody answers, maybe she can go home and claim she thought they weren't home.

No more than 20 seconds later, and her boss, all of 5'3 stands in front of her, a toddler at her hip.

"Right on time," she remarks, opening the door wider.

"I brought a pie," Meredith offers, holding out the box.

"Izzie was in one of her baking moods?" Bailey asks, as she shuts the door and offers Meredith a hanger for her coat.

"No!" Meredith protests a little too forcefully.

"You bought it?"

"Yes," Meredith admits, hanging her head.

"There's no shame in that! I can't make a pie without burning it, and truth be told, I never cared enough to try. Tucker will be very happy. Strawberry rhubarb is his favourite."

Meredith feels a lot lighter immediately. She sheds her shoes and leaves them lying neatly next to the hall closet. Bailey turns around sharply, handing over the baby to her, and then hurries back into the kitchen to mind the stove.

"Ooookay," Meredith comments slowly, staring into a large pair of brown eyes.

"Please don't cry," she begs, "I don't like crying babies. And you look so cute now with your fat cheeks and your bald head and if you cry, my image of you will be ruined and all I'll be able to picture is a pair of screaming lungs."

He watches her, his frown deepening, and she pushes the panic down, heading into the safety of the kitchen and his mother's presence.

"I don't think he likes me," she states.

"Nonsense," Bailey shoots back, "he's probably just wondering why you so skinny."

"I'm not that bad!" Meredith protests.

"You work longer hours than all of them, even Yang. I know it's because you don't want to be at home right now, so I try to respect that and I don't meddle with your schedule. You don't eat enough or often enough, and sometimes you're just in this zone and I don't know if the world is getting through to you."

Meredith's cheeks burn at the assessment, burn at how transparent she's become. She holds the baby closer to her, suddenly relieved at his presence, his softness and the way his chubby arms reach around her shoulders, and the little fists that grab onto her sweater.

"I'm not saying that to put you on the spot. You just looked better when he was here. You took care of yourself better. I know you miss him, but you still have to try and think of yourself sometimes."

Meredith nods in slow motion and just like that, the conversation is over. The mood at lunch is surprisingly light, and they talk about everything but the hospital and their jobs. She tells them a little about Boston and her favourite places to see out east. They are fascinated by Fenway, and baseball in general, and she knows nothing about it, but plays along and even enjoys the conversation.

After lunch, she helps clear the table and insists on loading up the dishwasher. Bailey starts to argue but then the phone rings and she's temporarily distracted. Meredith systematically rinses the plates, and when she turns the water off, she can hear Bailey's end of the conversation.

"Actually, she's right here. Had lunch with us today," she says and then a silence follows.

"I can ask her," she finally says before covering the mouthpiece.

"Do you want to talk to Derek?"

"What?" Meredith asks, stunned, and grateful that she's not holding a plate in her hands.

"He's on the phone," Bailey says reasonably, "do you want to say hello?"

"Ah, um, okay?"

"You two will be the death of me," Bailey mutters, shaking her head, and passes the cordless phone to her.

"Hello?" Meredith asks cautiously.

"Hi," his voice is warm and welcoming, "I heard you were there and I just wanted to say hello."

"Yeah, I was here for the fried chicken and the mashed potatoes and some kind of all-powerful gravy that can regenerate just the right kind of tissue," she finds herself rambling.

He chuckles, "Why haven't I ever heard anything about this gravy?"

"You don't need it, believe me" Meredith mutters, thinking back to his sculpted ass, and then shutting her eyes, pushing the image out.

"Okay, I'll take you word for it," he says and she can see him winking.

"Good decision."

"So, how is Neuro treating you?"

"Really good," she says easily, relieved at the topic that's come up, "the new attending has her own style, but somehow I've managed to dupe her into thinking I'm competent so she's not given me a hard time."

"You i are /i competent, Mer."

"Can you tell Bailey that?" She asks playfully.

"Okay, put her back on and I will."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," he confirms.

She hands the phone back and then it hits her, she won't have a chance to say goodbye. Part of her wonders if he constructed it this way, if it's easier to just drop in on each others' lives periodically, without so much as a warning sign.

Bailey walks down the hall, finishes the conversation in private and returns in a minute. Meredith studies her, trying to read the expression on her face.

"I didn't know you talk to Derek," she finally says, hoping she doesn't sound accusatory.

"He calls me sometimes, maybe once a week."

"What for?" Meredith asks, confused. When he lived here, he held Miranda Bailey in high regard, but they certainly had no personal relationship, and they never socialized outside of the workplace. She was sleeping with him, she definitely would have known.

"To ask how you're doing," Bailey replies as if it's the only reasonable conclusion.

* * *

Six weeks after James Buchner is released, Derek literally runs into him at the hospital entrance. James is jovial and visibly thinner. His hair has been shaved to a short buzz cut, and he slaps Derek's shoulder before shaking his hand.

"45 pounds, Doc!" He exclaims, pointing to his stomach.

"You're looking great, James," Derek tells him honestly.

"And guess what – I met a lady friend in my group," James confides, "I made her a few carvings. Rodin's Thinker – you know that one? Well she loves it, so I made one, nothing big, maybe 5 inches tall but she loved it."

"Well you certainly have a way with the ladies," Derek grins.

"I'm a one woman sort of man," James says seriously, "but it would be nice to have them fighting over me."

"Couldn't object, huh?"

"No, sir," James laughs.

Derek steps back, taking a long look at him. He imagines where James might be in a year or two, what his life will be like, where he'll live, how much things will have changed. All because of a single decision, and Derek is proud he was able to play even a small role in it.

"Well, I am very happy you're doing so well. Please stop by my office anytime you're in the city, and give my regards to your mother."

"I will," James promises, "she's making you a quilt, and I told her I would deliver it when it's done."

Derek chuckles, although he has to admit it's a step up from the ham.

"It's cool isn't it?" James asks, "That I could fix myself in the end?"

"It's very cool," Derek agrees, wondrous at the simplicity of the cure.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the reviews! I do like reading different takes on the story. Another part tonight, a bit different in terms of format, so I hope it works and you enjoy it.  
**

* * *

_She wrote me a letter and she wrote it so kind  
She put down in writing what was in her mind_

Derek liked leaving the door to his office open in the afternoons. It would encourage students to drop in and say hello and he liked the company. He'd head over to the university if he was done early enough in the day at the hospital and spend a couple of hours answering e-mails and preparing his lecture notes. Then he'd head home, pick up dinner on his way and watch an old movie on TV.

He liked the black & white ones because they seemed like they were in slow motion. Plus the soundtrack was wonky half the time and it amused him that he'd paid $7000 for a TV to watch old crap that certainly didn't benefit from high definition.

It was almost eight, and he'd just finished summarizing the findings of a new study for his class. He absentmindedly opened his e-mail inbox, as he cracked his knuckles, checking the time.

Penis enhancement, mortgage deals, three departmental e-mails and one without a subject title, from Meredith. He blinks and clicks on it in a hurry, surprised to find many paragraphs as he scrolls down the page. It's not an emergency, he tells him, or she'd have spit it out. Nevertheless, his heart is beating out of its chest as he reads it.

_Dear Derek,_

_Wow, that sounds stupid. Like an 80s TV show about a guy who got left by his wife, except when you watched a few episodes you realized exactly WHY he was left by her and suddenly all the pity flies out the window._

_Hi Derek,_

_Better?_

_Today made me think of you._

_Dr. Rodrigues – the woman who has your job and your office, but not your hair - sat down with me for my monthly review. She likes to do this with her residents, and it's not bad! Really…_

_So we looked at the cases I did this past week and how much OR time I got. She's very happy with my progress. She said I'm good at teamwork (this is only because unlike Cristina, I haven't yet pissed off the entire nurses union), and that I show good initiative. Cristina went green with envy at that last bit. But I'm gonna tell you a secret: there's a weird feeling I get when I'm at home. I used to enjoy Izzie and Alex being gone because I could take a long bath and turn off the phone ringer and forget that I was overworked. So all this initiative talk is a load of shit – I'm simply in my avoidance mode and I don't think anyone would dispute I am the master at that._

_But you could argue that point to make me feel better!_

_What's that? No go?_

_Well, anyway, so my evaluation was great. It was maybe even stellar. As my reward, she gave me half a day off, which, in my avoidance-of-home mode is more like a punishment. I came home and my Mom's estate planning lawyer called, telling me her will was through probate? Finished probate? Whichever. You know lawyers. The short of it is that I'm now…rich. I can go shoe shopping and to Tahiti on vacation and not even think twice about it. I should really go out and buy more expensive shoes that nobody will know are expensive, because let's face it, they all look the same._

_So you're thinking – Meredith just had a great day? And I should have! Right? I have a great job I love. My boss sees me through rose-coloured glasses and hey, as a bonus, I can upgrade to one of those super platinum credit cards. How much money do you need to have for the kind celebrities use? And I was off work at noon, on a really nice day._

_Then I made the mistake of going down to the ferryboats and it left me feeling all weird on the inside._

_I thought of you and I didn't have a great day anymore._

_I'm writing this e-mail because I can't call you just to make myself feel better. Especially since hearing from me probably makes you feel worse. I have no right to do that, and I can't hope that I'll end up talking to you out of the blue, like when you called Bailey's house and I just so happened to be there._

_And let's face it, I'm a bit of a coward when it comes to verbalizing anything that might smack of a bit of discomfort._

_But there are some things I have to say to you and I'm at the computer now and when I click the Send button, I won't have to see your face, good or bad (or pretty…), so I just have to go for it. Do it._

_I never meant for us to end up this way. I didn't WANT us to and for that, I apologize._

_I know that you think I preferred my friends to you, maybe that I even loved them more than you. But okay, the thing is, they had no expectations of me, you know? Like, I'd have a bad day and they'd buy me 3 rounds of drinks and that was it. Or I couldn't get out of bed in the morning because all I could think about is how my life sucked and Cristina would come over and literally strip the covers off me and push me off the bed and force me down the stairs._

_She could fix the immediate problem. I'd get up to go to work and her job was accomplished. But she wouldn't ask me why I couldn't get out of bed. Yeah, you can say she knew, but it's who she is. She doesn't fix you, she fixes the situation you find yourself in. For five minutes or a day._

_So when Susan died, I knew she wouldn't ask me if it hurt the same way as when my own Mom died. And when Thatcher slapped me, I knew she wouldn't make me talk about my 101 abandonment issues. And when I froze in that exam, I knew she wouldn't dig to get to the root of it. It was easy, Derek – to go to them._

_I wouldn't ever get better, but I'd feel better for an evening. And then the next day I'd push ahead on my own and somehow figure out a way to cope as I always had._

_You'd never let me be. You'd pull me close and ask all those questions and know when I'm lying. And I'm weak when it comes to you! My God, I said I wouldn't go out with you and then I go and have sex with you in your car. In public. And humiliate myself in front of my boss in the process. I'm so weak it's not even funny. I'd tell you or try to tell you how I feel in my own inept way._

_And then…dun dun DUN (like the theme from Jaws) – you'd …leave._

_Don't take that the wrong way; I'm not trying to make you feel bad about yourself or guilty. At the same time, you do have a history of leaving. When Addison came, when you decided that Finn was the better guy, and in a way when my…accident had you thinking that I was a lost cause. Plus this whole New York thing, it's leaving, in a way, right?_

_Well then you'd go and I can't do what I do with them. Because now somebody I am embarrassed to need is gone and I'm a total fucking mess. (Sorry about that)_

_It could be the cowardly thing, but I chose the easy way out. If I told you nothing and I involved you in nothing, then when you inevitably left, there wouldn't be a huge open sore where you used to be._

_(Except it's there and it's oozing and refusing to close over, so what do I know?)_

_I just wanted you to know that. It isn't that I didn't trust you or didn't want you. I just protected myself the best way I knew how._

_I am really sorry that you got hurt in the process. I'm sorry you had to leave. I don't think this e-mail is going to change anything, but I don't want you to hate me from afar. I don't want someone to ask you what you'd been up to the last year or so and then you thinking of this horrible woman who ruined your life and made a fool of you. I'm not that person, and I hope you know that._

_Thank you for checking on me and caring about how I am doing. I appreciate it._

_Please accept my apology._

_Mer_

_P.S. I am sending you something by FedEx tomorrow. In case that you need a bit more incentive to forgive me. I hope you enjoy it – courtesy of my inheritance.  
_

Derek loses count of how many times his index finger hovered over the mouse, ready to shoot back a response. Each time he tried, he thought he needed more time, to think it through, to say it the right way.

She was reaching out to him in her own way and he ached to be there with her. After all, isn't this what he'd wanted and waited for? He loved her and she was giving him what he wanted, and for that he loved her even more.

"Hi, Izzie," Meredith greets her, her voice betraying her exhaustion.

She shuffles into the kitchen, dropping her bag on one of the chairs, and collapses into another. She rubs the impending sleep out of her face and concentrates on the cheesy smell permeating the air.

"Risotto," Izzie fills her in, stirring the large pot on the stove.

"Smells great," Meredith comments, and turns her laptop on.

It's not that she's anxious; she hasn't let herself believe that he'd respond, and she's a little bit mortified at some of the things she'd said to him. And yet, she's anxious to see if there's a response, needing reassurance from him.

"I was just so antsy, and this needs attention so…"

"Mmmm…." Meredith murmurs, not really hearing her.

"I'm just…ugh!" Izzie exclaims, flustered and red faced.

Meredith opens up her web browser, only glancing up quickly to see Izzie's eyes grow wet.

"Izz?" She asks softly.

"I slept with George!" Her friend exclaims and Meredith is completely taken aback.

"What?" Is all Meredith is able to come up with, her computer and Derek's words in cyberspace temporarily forgotten.

"That's not even true," Izzie moans miserably, "it's more like I've _been_ sleeping with him."

"What? When?" Meredith blurts out, astonished. She wonders if she's been so self absorbed in her residency and missing Derek that she could have so blind to an adulterous affair right in front of her. Especially one involving two of her closest friends. Incidentally one who also has the biggest mouth in the hospital.

"Well we made up and then," Izzie sniffed, "it just happened and then we tried to avoid each other, but it happened a few more times."

"It just happened," Meredith echoes, trying to wrap her mind around this.

"Yeah, I just kinda tripped and fell and landed on top of him," Izzie snaps, before calming down, "it just happened, Mer."

"Does Callie know about this?" Meredith asks, and immediately regrets bringing up the other woman when she sees the look on Izzie's face.

"I don't know. I don't think so," Izzie says, shaking her head, "not that it matters. He told me it's over."

"Izzie…" Meredith says soothingly, getting up, "do you have feelings for him?"

"At first he was George! You know, well you _know_," she says and Meredith smiles sadly in return, holding herself back from cringing, "and I just really missed him. You had Cristina and Alex didn't care if he had anyone and I had George. He was my family."

"He's your best friend," Meredith affirms.

"Yeah," Izzie agrees, wiping her eyes.

"But he's something more now?" Meredith asks gently.

"I think I'm in love with him," Izzie tells her so quietly that Meredith has to strain to hear her even though she's a mere few feet away.

"And he doesn't feel the same?"

"That's the thing!" Izzie exclaims in frustration, stirring the risotto with far more vigour than is necessary, "he says he does but that he's not the kind of man who wants to do this to his wife and just throw his marriage away."

Meredith crosses the remainder of the kitchen and sits on the stool right next to Izzie.

"It's George. He's like a puppy," she says, not unkindly.

"It's not even what he wants, you know?" Izzie mutters, before turning to face Meredith, "and I thought you might, I don't know, get it?"

"Because I was in love with a man who did the same thing?"

"Yeah, that," Izzie says sheepishly and they take a moment to share a wry laugh.

"Do you really want my advice, Izz?"

"Yes," Izzie says, turning the stove off and removing the risotto from the heat so she can give Meredith her full attention.

"Okay…" Meredith hedges, "I think that you probably don't want to be involved in a triangle."

"No."

"But that's all you can have at the moment, Izz. Trust me, you can sit here and convince yourself that yeah, he goes home to her, but he loves you, he really loves you deep inside. And that it's just a matter of time before he realizes it. After all, you see him and he doesn't look happy when he's with her. You might even convince yourself he's miserable. And maybe you can wait it out, put up with some things because this can't last forever. He will see you the way you see him and then everything will fall into place."

Izzie looks heartbroken at Meredith's assessment. She shouldn't; it's exactly what she expected to hear, yet it hurts more than she thought it would.

"Happily married people don't cheat," Meredith says, "but they also don't leave their wives or husbands until they're ready to."

"I get that, I do," Izzie says sadly, "but I'm his best friend. It doesn't bother him that I don't know what to do with myself?"

"I don't think Derek ever really realized how I felt when he chose Addison. He's not a bad guy, no matter what you may think, he was just, clueless somehow. Even to what he really wanted."

"I don't think he's a bad guy," Izzie protests, "just because Cristina always got her jabs in doesn't mean I agreed with her."

"Okay," Meredith says, realizing that she may have projected opinions on Izzie that she never held. Maybe it's because she suddenly had a kinship with the woman, she felt bad for leaving her out of important things in her life.

"I don't know what to tell you," Meredith says, wrapping her arm around her friend's shoulders, "but you're gorgeous and you're smart enough to do this better than I did. You are, Izz," Mer assures her when she senses a protest.

"Well it's not like I can sleep with George in a desperate moment of weakness," Izzie jokes and is rewarded with a punch to the arm.

"To think I was sympathizing!" Meredith laughs.

"Okay, okay, I apologize," Izzie laughs back, her voice losing the waver.

"Do you want me to keep this between us?" Meredith asks her.

"Don't tell Cristina. She'll just go around calling him BimboBambi or something and then he'll really hate me."

"He doesn't hate you," Meredith assures her, suddenly reminded of why she'd been in a hurry to get home after her shift.

"Yeah, well."

"It'll get better. You might have to wait it out, but it gets…better," Meredith promises her vaguely.

"Is it better for you?" Izzie asks with a surprising frankness in her voice.

"Right now?"

"Mmmm," Izzie nods.

"It's okay? I think," Meredith tells her after a moment of reflection, but leaves it at that. She hasn't told her friends that she's spoken to Derek and she's very reluctant to do so. Part of her almost fears that it hasn't been real and if she breaks her silence, it will disappear into thin air, like a figment of her imagination.

Izzie smiles back and picks up a tissue to blow her nose. She heads to the bathroom to wash her hands and insists that she'll set the table and do the dishes tonight. Meredith doesn't argue, eager to return to her laptop.

When she does, it's his name she sees, in black, bold letters. She takes a deep breath, and then another one before opening the document with a mixture of excitement and dread.

_Mer,_

_I can't say it wasn't a surprise to read your e-mail. I really appreciate that you've sent it, and although I'm the one who should be apologizing from here until kingdom come, I do accept your apology._

_Please don't think I hate you – it couldn't be further from the truth. I may have 101 different regrets about last year, but none of them have to do with having met you. Just me being a jackass. And that I don't have pictures of us together. Why didn't we take any?_

_I was never good at letters. But I don't want to lose touch with you. If you feel like calling me, please do. I'll be happier than a pig in shit to hear from you. It's a long and lonely day when you're not in it. Even with 19 million people around._

_D._

_P.S. Thank you for the 50 year old Glenfarclas. I knew the Google is an evil tool, but I couldn't help myself and took a look. And now I can't believe you'd send me a $3000 bottle of Scotch. I'm afraid to open it, but good news, Mark isn't. You know you didn't have to, but I can't say I don't love it. I do. So thank you and I hope one day I can repay your generosity.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for all the reviews. I worried about using e-mail as a method of communication, but I think it served its purpose and most of you seemed to like it, so good. :) Here's a bit more M/D, because as much as they need to work on things alone, they need to start talking to each other again.**_  
_

* * *

_I just don't see why I should even care  
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there_

Three days after Meredith receives Derek's e-mail, she walks into the convenience store a couple of blocks from her house and decisively slaps down a $10 bill on the counter, pointing to the large display of calling cards behind the pimply cashier boy. It is of course, completely unnecessary, because she can call him from her cell phone, and from the phone at the house and even from one at the hospital. She found that out from Alex, who apparently regularly called his mother back in Iowa and had the Obstetrics department foot the bill.

Nevertheless, she feels like if she goes out and spends money on a card, it will mock her from her wallet, laughing at her cowardice and indecision, until Meredith can't take it anymore. Then she'll have to call Derek, like he wanted her to, and her life will be back on track. Until such a time, she feels like everything was on hold. Like she can't make the next step until that phone call is over and done with. Consequently, she buys the card, insists on a no-connection fee, and sticks it into her wallet, in the same pocket as her MasterCard.

The drive home is brief and as she gets out of the car she's parked in her driveway, she can swear her purse feels heavier. It's that damn card that weighs like 4 lbs at least, like some kind of stupid anvil in her bag.

Meredith unlocks the front door, steps out of her flats, and heads into the kitchen. She tosses the purse on the table, and the contents spill out. The wallet rolls out and she swears she can see it walking towards her. On its little wallet legs. There is just no way that a purse would topple and it could fall that far out. Not unless it had motive and intent, and it most definitely did.

"Argh!" She yelled at nobody in particular, and stalked to the corner where the cordless phone was mounted on the wall. She grabbed the handset and brought it back, as she fished the calling card out of the wallet with her spare hand.

"It's Derek! You _want_ to talk to Derek," she says outloud, hoping the echo of her voice in the empty house would serve to convince her.

"And he wants to talk to you," she says, and has to admit that does make her feel better. He _wants_ to talk to her! Her and her words and her voice which has to relay those words. He even told her so himself.

Well, okay, not the bit about the words.

She throws caution to the wind, picks up the phone and stabs the 1-800 number in, then stabs the pin number in, and finally Derek's phone number. She is told she has something like 89,000 minutes for this call, which makes her think she made a very good purchase. There is a special pleasure one derives from a good deal.

The phone rings and it rings and it rings and when she finally hears his voice, it's been so long that she almost thinks it's the answering machine recording.

* * *

"Derek?" She asks tentatively, and when he responds, calling her by name, she's relieved and feels very foolish about the huge deal she'd made concerning the simple call. 

"Mer, hey!" He greets her warmly, sounding genuinely surprised to hear her voice. She doesn't know why that should be; he told her to call.

"Hi, are you home? Should I call later?"

There is no reason for her to even ask this. It's just that she's freaking out. Maybe she misread him. Maybe he said to call because he was being polite. Like when you graduated college and told everyone to keep in touch, but you knew you weren't going to. It was just the polite thing to do, it was what everyone did. It's quite possible Derek didn't know how to end the e-mail so he tossed in a throw-away line and she, like the idiot she was, completely misinterpreted it.

"Yeah, I just got in," he says and the lack of further elaboration leaves her in a pickle.

"Do you have company?" She asks meekly, imagining some expensive New York escort woman with large breasts and fake nails. Of course that's ridiculous – Derek hardly needed to pay for sex. Oh God, sex with other women.

"No, no, nothing like that!" He exclaims, apparently realizing where her train of thought was leading her, "I was about to eat dinner," he assures her.

"Oh, okay!" She says, relieved. There was no bimbo she'd have to poison or whose eyes she'd have to gouge out with a dull, rusted spoon. She isn't even sure if that's possible, but if Cristina could probably help her out with it.

"Time just got away from me today, and the next thing I knew, it was 7:30."

"And you hate eating late," she reasons, thinking back to their dinners together. If they were stuck at the hospital until late, he'd grab a small snack and go to bed, whereas she was more than ready to dispose of a very large steak at all times of night. If they were at home, enjoying a rare day off, he'd insist on an early dinner, and then roll his eyes when she was digging through the fridge two hours later to satisfy her second pangs of hunger.

"Yeah, I always feel so…"

"Bloaty," she supplies.

"Bloaty?" He laughs lightly at her invented word.

"Yeah, all bloated-like," she explains patiently.

"Ah, now I know that you are one of those people who always cheats at Scrabble."

"I do not!" She protests

"You're why the rules call for the use of an official dictionary," he continues to tease her.

"Derek?"

"Hmm?

"You suck at Scrabble, don't you?" She asks, feeling the corners of her lips lift into a shit-eating grin.

"I'm…no!"

"Oh my God, you are a liar!" Meredith laughs, collapsing into the chair by the phone. Her shoulders shake and a minute later, Derek joins in. It's an absurd exchange to have over the phone, but it's Derek and he's humoring her and willing to go hungry to prolong their talk.

"Okay, okay," he admits sheepishly, "I liked numbers, not words. I always got gold stars in math class."

"I used to throw eraser bits at Bobby Chapman in math class," she remembers fondly. She'd come home every couple of weeks and ask Ellis for a new eraser, claiming she'd lost the one she had. Her mother was never amused, but she didn't have time to argue with an 8-year-old, so she'd hand her a $20 bill and instruct the baby sitter to take her to Staples after school.

"Why would you do that?" He wonders, amused.

"Because a he had cooties," she tells him matter-of-factly.

Derek chuckles and waits for her to go on.

"He tried to kiss me," she confesses, "and I punched him in the stomach and then he became my enemy."

"Or you became his," he muses.

"_After_ he became mine," she emphasizes.

"You should have been a lawyer," Derek comments, after realizing that she's got a story and she's so set in her ways that there isn't a chance he'll change her mind. She's stubborn, from head to toe…fists in particular.

"Imagine what that would have done to my mother."

"She'd have hated it that much?"

"If not more. Ellis Grey didn't really care about money, although she had a lot of it."

"Yeah, I keep hearing that you're rich now," he tells her and she can sense his smile, thousands of miles away.

"We should compare accounts someday," she says jokingly, "but seriously, she respected prestige for the sake of prestige and achievement. The money was just something that came along with it. To tell her I'd be a grunt for some partner but I'd be making more than her…instant nervous breakdown."

"You sorry you didn't do it?" He guesses.

"You bet your ass!" She replies cheerily, and is happy that she doesn't feel an overwhelming sense of guilt joking about her mother. There were regrets she had about their relationship, and the regrets were many. But she could bring her name up and have a memory evoked and it would be fine.

Derek gets up and walks around his kitchen, stretching his legs. His stomach immediately announces its presence, and rumbles loudly. The palm of his right hand rubs just below his rib cage, and he opens the fridge door. The light illuminates the room, and he squints at the sudden change.

Meredith can hear the fridge door opening and she immediately feels guilty. At the same time, she doesn't want to hang up, and doesn't even know whether she can. She wants him to stay on the phone and talk to her about nothing and to forget that it's just temporary and that tomorrow she'll walk through the doors of Seattle Grace and feel empty again.

"Hey," she says, an idea crossing her mind, "have dinner with me?"

"Um…" he trails off.

"You're going to eat, right?" She continues without hesitation.

"As much as I'd rather spend time with you, I think that my gastric acid has made its way through my stomach lining and has its sights set on dissolving my ribcage."

"So, have dinner with me," she says reasonably, as if he's the strange one for not understanding her proposal.

"Wait, right now?" Derek asks, finally getting it.

"Yeah, right now," she affirms, "grab your leftovers and pop them in the microwave and I'll find something cold and disgusting and most likely curdled, and we'll eat."

"And talk?" He asks hopefully.

"I talk, you listen, remember?"

"No, you yell," he corrects her.

"Okay, so I'll eat and yell and you'll sit there in stunned silence, chewing on something ethnic you got in New York. Japanese?" She guesses.

"Close enough – Malaysian."

"I don't think I've ever had Malaysian," she says thoughtfully, thinking back to her college days in Boston. Truth be told, she wasn't sober long enough to remember most of her meals, and after 7 or 8 beers, she didn't have much of a gastronomic snob left inside her.

"It's good, you'd like it," he assures her, and she can hear him spooning things onto a plate.

"But I hate Chinese," she reminds him, and finally gets up to go hunt through her own fridge. She crinkles her nose at the 3 slices of pizza that she can't quite date and lifts the top of the Tupperware container that's half full of chili Alex had made. It's thick and rich and the smell of cumin coats her nose.

"Malaysian is spicier, more like Thai. You like spicy stuff," he points out.

"The best is when you can't even feel your tongue. It goes all numb and tingly."

"Yeah, so you'd definitely love it."

"I'll put it on my list of to-do things," she promises, programming the microwave. She hears him do the same and then watches her container spin in a circle, puffs of steam escaping and fogging up the glass door.

"You know what's in my stir fry?" He asks, tapping his fingers against the cool granite countertop.

"Vegetables?"

"Hilarious."

"Wait, was it a serious question?" She teases.

"Chilies!"

"Hot, red little devils?" She asks, mouth watering.

"Mmmhmmm, a little burnt at the edges…"

"Shiny and glistening with heat?"

He imagined her licking her lips then, pink tongue sneaking past the plump red skin, its end curling against itself, tasting the saltiness and tang of the thin sheen of sweat on her upper lip.

Christ, he cannot be having improper thoughts about his ex-girlfriend who is merely trying to educate herself about fine Malay cuisine. That would be wrong and sick and sinfully delicious.

"So have I convinced you?" He finally manages to ask her.

"Um, pardon?"

She has no idea what he's talking about. In fact, she's not really sure what day of the week it is either. All she's got on her mind is that bowl of noodles with his chilies swimming in it and how she's like to be one so he could bring her up to his lips and envelop her in his warm mouth and then she'd die because he's eat her, but my God, what a way to go.

"About the Malaysian food," he pushes forward, trying to ignore the fact that his jeans suddenly shrank at least 3 sizes.

"Oh, the food, right. Yes!" She exclaims stupidly, "yes, I'll get right on that. Can't wait."

To be a hot little thing on the tip of your tongue.

"To find a local restaurant," she says instead.

"Okay," he says, not really paying attention to what she's been saying, and eager to change the topic before he bursts and embarrasses both of them, "so shall we eat?"

She smiles, equally as relieved and hums a non-verbal response, before burying her spoon into the chili. The warm ground beef and sauce and chunky mushrooms fill her mouth and she chews happily, realizing for the first time tonight just how hungry she is.

"So good," he moans after a few mouthfuls and she can't help but agree.

"It's a wonder that we don't all weigh 50 lbs working these jobs," Meredith says between spoonfuls.

"You'd think they'd insist on regular feeding times."

"I bet if Bailey was Chief, they would," she says thoughtfully, "did I tell you about the lunch I had at her house? I think she really did provide all the food groups."

"The actual food groups, or Meredith food groups?" He jokes, "because unless there was processed cheese and Fruit Loops, I don't see how the latter could be true."

"Lucky Charms!" She protests loudly against his incorrect accusation.

"Oh God, that's the one with the marshmallows, right?"

"Yeah, and then they seep colour into the milk and it becomes pink!"

"That's honestly revolting," he tells her before twisting more noodles around his fork and bringing them to his mouth.

"It's sweet, it's pretty and it gave meaning to my childhood."

"You're 31, Mer."

"Age is a state of mind, Der," she mocks, using a short form of his name that she's never made a habit of employing.

"Fair enough," he says agreeably.

They eat in a companionable silence for a couple of minutes. She finds the sound if his breathing soothing, because he's there and he's real and it reminds her of the nights she spent awake, with nothing but Derek's puffs of air and the shift of the mattress breaking the silence in the room.

Meredith finishes the rest of her meal and dumps the remainder in the garbage before rinsing out the Tupperware. She leaves it soaking in the sink, and heads to the living room, where she lies down on the couch, knees bent and slack up in the air, heels flat against the cushions.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" She asks when she's sure he's finished his dinner and can afford to pay attention.

"You can ask me anything," he says frankly.

"What did you do with your land?"

Her voice is soft and gentle and he has to strain to hear her.

"It's still there," he answers, his voice louder and clearer than hers was, but not by much.

"Oh."

He sighs before continuing, "I sold the trailer before I left. There was no sense in keeping it there. I didn't know what I wanted for the land and I didn't really want to part with it. I'm not sure why, except I loved the area and the location and I could justify it as a possible long term investment?"

"So it's yours?" Meredith murmurs, a warm feeling washing over her at the thought that there's a piece of him he left behind. Such a valuable piece too.

"It's still mine," he affirms.

"Good," she says, confidence returning to her voice now that she's found an anchor to hold on to.

"Good?" He wonders.

"Well, you know…like you said, you love the land," she adds lamely, not wanting to get into a discussion about why exactly she was happy he hadn't sold the property.

"You know what I always thought was funny? How much you liked it there when you're a total city girl."

"Me?" She laughs, "says the man who grew up in Manhattan. Have you ever seen a cow in person, Derek?"

"Have you?" He shoots back.

"I spent two months in Switzerland trying to find myself," she says dryly, "I have seen thousands and milked two."

"Seriously??" He is amazed and doesn't know why this shocks him. He knew she'd traveled around Europe, but he assumed she did it like every other American college kid. Hopped on a few trains, got drunk in one of the many Paris parks and sat in a group outside the Brandenburg gate, just loitering until a better idea occurred to her.

"Were you successful?" He asks when the shock wears off.

"Well, it didn't kick me in the face, so I guess so?" She giggles.

"No, in finding yourself."

"Oh, that."

"Yeah, that."

"I think you probably know the answer to that."

"Why do young kids think they can find themselves on the side of some mountain halfway around the world?"

"Because their crazy mother is 6 time zones away?" Meredith guesses.

"I was speaking more generally," he tells her.

"But I always make it about myself," she smiles lopsidedly.

"I know you're joking, but it really isn't true," he says and something in the delivery tells her he's being completely genuine.

"Isn't it?"

She's not into self-recrimination or self-flagellation for that matter, but she knows that people see her in a certain way. Cristina has insinuated many times that Meredith always makes every topic about Meredith, and while it's true to some extent, Meredith can't help but feel that the same could be said of her friend.

"Why did you take care of your Mom all alone for all those years?"

"Because she asked me to," was the automatic response.

"Why did you keep Cristina's secret when Burke was having the tremors?"

"Because she's my friend and she needed to deal with it in her own way."

"Why did you help Izzie with Denny?"

"Because….because she needed me."

It was the simplest of all answers and she knew what he was getting at and appreciated him for it. They didn't have a relationship to speak of at the moment and he wasn't making any effort to get into her pants or back into her life. He didn't have to flatter her with bullshit. He was just Derek, the guy who thought better of her than she thought of herself. And who certainly thought better of her than her own friends did. Yet he came in at a distant #2 and the more she thought about it, the more she could no longer pinpoint her justification for treating him as an afterthought.

"Sometimes, I think that you did everything for everyone else and nothing for yourself, Mer. That's not a good thing either," he says carefully.

"I'm no Mother Teresa,"

"Yes, I know," he says and she has to admit the sting hurts.

"I'm sorry," she's immediately contrite, "how bad did I make it for you?"

"Mer…"

"Don't do that, don't side-step it."

"Nine," he says finally and it's a hard blow, right to her gut, below her ribcage and makes it hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry," she says again, "I'm not perfect."

"No, you're you," he says simply, and lets a silent moment go by before his voice takes on a joking tone, "and you're rich."

"Thanks," she says with a soft smile. Thanks for not pushing, for leaving it at that, for saying it in the first place. She hopes he hears all those things in a word.

"You're very welcome."

"So, is it time for you to go to bed?" She says, checking the time and calculating the difference.

"I'm dead tired, but I don't want to go to bed."

"What do you want to do?" Meredith asks, her voice growing soft and just a little timid once again.

"Let's talk," he says.

And just like that, they do.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

**Thank you to those who are reading along and especially those who are leaving reviews. I like to get a sense of the tone of the story and so on, and you've been really helpful. This piece is a bit longer than the previous few were. I also brought back Mark, or my version of him, and a new character who was needed to advance the plot, and not for any evil purpose. Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_  
_

_Well, I've been to London and I've been to gay Paree  
I've followed the river and I got to the sea_

"Legs, three o'clock," Mark says quietly, nodding his head towards the aisle next to Derek.

There is a woman in a very short skirt, struggling to go up the stairs in what look to be 4 inch heels. Her legs are long and tanned, surely courtesy of a tanning bed in Manhattan in November. Her skirt hugs her ample hips tightly and as her body sways side to side, Mark is entranced. It's like the lava lamp he used to own as a kid.

"What's the big deal with legs? You've got them," Derek points out.

"Not those, I don't. Besides I didn't say it was the only thing I cared about. I like my women well…rounded," Mark replies with a lecherous look in his eyes.

"You're shameless," Derek chides him with a patented eye roll.

"I am a plastic surgeon. Unlike you butchers, I appreciate fine form."

"Oh, I see, so ogling women in public is sort of like art appreciation to you?"

"I prefer to call it professional development," Mark retorts with a smirk, then looks inside his nearly empty beer cup.

"Your turn," he says to Derek.

"You know we could go out after the game and pay half as much for a beer twice as large?" Derek mutters, and immediately feels cheap. It's not that it's about the money at this point; he has more than plenty. But it's the principle of the thing, and the fact he grew up with a cheap mother who used to wash out his sandwich bags and hang them up in the yard like laundry, only to be reused the next day. She'd be horrified at what they were paying for beer at Madison Square Garden.

"Who says we won't do that too?" Mark asks with a puzzled look on his face, and Derek takes that as his cue to get up. The half time buzzer is going to go on soon and then the lines will be twice as long.

He gets up and dumps their empty cups in the garbage. The usher at the entrance to his section smiles at him, as if she finds it surprising that anyone cleans up after themselves these days. She eyes him up and down a couple of times, trying to figure out if she recognizes him from somewhere. This is no doubt a result of his courtside seats and nothing more. There are some advantages to being friends with Mark, after all.

When he'd returned to Manhattan, it was pointless to keep ignoring his childhood friend in the halls of the hospital, the line up at Starbucks and the pubs around the corner. He'd run out of energy and will to do so and in a moment of temporary insanity, invited Mark out for a drink. It was his 4th day back in the city, and they'd gotten very drunk, very quickly. Derek laughed as Mark tried to impress all the grad students who filled the pub in hopes of $3.25 Coronas, and wondered whether they'd be here in 30 years and nothing would change. Mark was smooth, easily dropping that he's a plastic surgeon (which allowed him a closer look at his current conquest's breasts), and casually taking off his blazer, not because he was hot, but because he wanted them to get a good look at the designer label. He was nothing if not a professional.

The next day, Derek woke up clutching the couch in the living room and an angry cell phone's constant beeping informing him that he had a voicemail.

"Derek, it's me. You owe me forty bucks for the cab ride. I had to give the guy an extra 10 because he thought you might hurl. MEGU at 8? Your treat."

He let his head fall against the coffee table, calculating that the meal would set him back at least $400, which would be tolerable if he actually liked Japanese. A fair exchange for a cab ride. But at the same time, it didn't matter, because as he washed down three aspirin with the skim milk in his fridge door, he knew Mark was back. The guy who always got him into trouble in the wee hours and then somehow benefited from it in the morning. And also the same guy who made sure he got home on time and who went out to dinner with him not because he liked Japanese or couldn't afford his own meal, but because he knew Derek needed a friend and craved the company of a human being who wasn't his sister.

Since then, they'd fallen into an easy friendship. Neither of them brought up Seattle or the people they left behind. Mark, because he was not going to remind Derek of every way in which he'd wronged him in the past 2 years, and Derek, because he had an idea of what Mark thought, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it.

Saturdays they'd go out for dinner to a restaurant of Mark's choosing because he was much more obsessed with the scene. They caught a couple of ball games together, went to see a movie and even played a round of golf with some old windbags at the hospital. Mark correctly figured they needed to ingratiate themselves if they were going to get anywhere where the guys retired, and Derek went along with it, if only for the Methuselah jokes Mark was guaranteed to make as they followed their bosses in the golf cart.

Derek pays for the beers and juggles them as he returnsto his seat. Mark gratefully accepts his cup and scoffs at the half-time score.

"The Knicks are lame. We should go see the Nets, even if it is in a stinky swamp."

"You were born in New Jersey," Derek points out.

"If I had any way of changing that, I would," Mark assures him, "but seriously, remember when Ewing played? And we'd go up to the cheap seats with the obstructed view and still had a good time. You know why? Because the team wasn't absolute ass."

"Those were some good times," Derek agrees.

"Yeah, they were."

It's only a moment that a soft look crosses Mark's features, but Derek knows how much growing up together meant to the both of them. Mark was the kid who was always in trouble at school, but behaved perfectly for Derek's mother, who had a special way of making him feel guilty if he did something wrong.

"Speaking of the good, old times, guess who bought a house across the street from Kathleen?"

"Let me guess, one of my illustrious exes?"

"Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!" Derek grins.

"It's not Meg, is it?"

"Oh, it is. In all her glory, with her husband and 4 kids."

"She still hot?" Mark asks, unable to help himself.

"Couldn't even tell she'd had one baby," Derek says, enjoying the torture session.

"Ugh," Mark groans, "this is God punishing me, isn't it?"

"For the turkey dump? Uh, yeah, I'd say so."

Mark dated Meg for three years in high school. He lost his virginity to her in the school's choir room after hours. She was blonde, busty and the head cheerleader, but apparently not woman enough to stop Mark from bedding at least a half a dozen other girls when he went away to college. Meg was at Michigan on a cheerleading scholarship and Mark was…Mark. So poor Meg got dumped at Thanksgiving and Derek ended up being her shoulder to cry on, assuring her that it most definitely wasn't her. Mark was just…Mark. Who would sleep with his wife 15 years later, but Derek was clearly too shortsighted to see that at the time.

"We were at college! Isn't that what guys do? Meet random chicks at parties and get it out of their system?"

Derek laughs heartily, "So you got it out of your system?"

"I'm barely 38," Mark scoffs.

"Oh, well in that case…"

"We both know I wasn't marriage material. She has four kids. Can you imagine?"

"You'd be a good father," Derek says thoughtfully, "I think it would change you."

"Like suddenly I'd become all soft and kind?"

"Okay, let's not go that far."

"Thank God," Mark laughs, relieved. He munches on peanuts, while Derek eyes him sideways.

"Speaking of family," Derek starts slowly, "Mom wanted to know if you'd be joining us for Thanksgiving this year."

"Yeah?" Mark asks, and Derek can't help but notice the hopeful look in his eyes.

"I told her it would be fine, there would be no knives flying about."

"So Nancy won't be coming?" Mark jokes and Derek has to admit it's funny.

"Let me ask you something…you and Nancy, did you, _you know_…."

"Derek!" Mark gasps, horrified.

"So you didn't?" Derek concludes, a sense of relief filling him, although he wonders if he should bring up the other sisters too.

"No, I did, but I didn't think you'd ever want to know about it," Mark says seriously, like he's being very considerate in the circumstances.

"Oh dear God," Derek moans at the mental image.

"What?" Mark shrugs, "it wasn't serious or anything."

"Well that makes me feel so much better."

"Am I uninvited?" Mark asks with a puppy dog look.

Derek sighs deeply, but finds himself unable to muster up any anger, "No, you're not uninvited."

"Thanks, buddy!" Mark tells him, punching his shoulder.

Derek smiles at him warmly.

"By the way, I forgot to tell you, we're doing it at Kathleen's this year so she doesn't have to drag the twins all the way to Mom's. And she's asked Meg to bring her family over for dessert."

Mark stares at him in shock for a good minute before slapping Derek's back.

"You magnificent bastard!" He finally exclaims, admitting that he's been one-upped.

"You like that, huh?" Derek winks, absurdly proud of himself.

They turn back to the game, and Mark yells out a couple of obscenities when the ref calls an offensive foul against the Knicks. Derek hopes that the kids in the row behind them didn't hear, but then they yell out things that would even make Mark blush, so he puts aside his discomfort.

"I think I've found a condo," Mark says after a large gulp of his beer.

"Oh?"

"I'm sick of renting. My entire apartment is beige. It's depressing. Not to mention, the building is full of rich, foreign students who party all night."

"And that's a problem for you because…" Derek trails off, confused. If anything, young, supple foreigners would be Mark's prime hunting grounds.

"Because they don't invite me?"

Derek laughs at the look on Mark's face which almost resembles mild embarrassment. It's no wonder he's been in a hurry to find some real estate – his ego must have taken a serious hit.

"I know!" Mark laughs along with him, "bratty little Europeans!"

"I love that some spoiled 19-year-old from Estonia put Mark Sloane in his place."

"Those Estonian women," Mark whistles, "don't knock it till you've tried it."

"Well we all know you haven't," Derek mocks and Mark lets him, "and we're missing the whole game, chatty Kathy."

"Yeah, yeah. Point is, I found a place. Aaaand," Mark draws out the word, creating suspense, "the best part is, there are two."

"Two what?"

"Condos. Different floors, but same building. Both great, right across the street from Raccoon Lodge," Mark says, nudging Derek.

"Where, on Warren?"

"Yeah, the old Munitions building. Turned it into condos a couple of years ago."

"Good location," Derek says, approving. They went to med school at NYU, and were familiar with Tribeca. They talked about moving into a place together when they started their internship, but by then Derek was already engaged to Addison, and the plans changed.

"Great location," Mark insists, "so how about it?"

"What, buying with you?" Derek turns to him, surprised.

"No offense, Der, but I think we are both past the point of roommates," Mark smirks, no doubt thinking back to Legs at three o'clock.

"I'm not really looking," Derek shrugs.

"Because you'd rather live in your ex-wife's house, with her things and her clothes, like some kind of boarder?"

"It was my house too."

"Was, Derek. _Was_," Mark says pointedly, "that time has come and gone. And you're stuck there in Morningside Heights. It's in the middle of fucking nowhere. No wonder you need me to come rescue you."

"I like it there," Derek mutters, "I know the neighbours, I love the house and I don't really see the point of buying."

"So you're going to stay there forever?"

"No, but I don't know, I don't want to commit myself to something as huge as this. What are you paying for the condo anyway? $3 million?"

"Just about," Mark makes a face.

"See, huge," Derek says.

"Addison will sell the brownstone and give you half," Mark says out of the blue, taking Derek aback.

"What? What are you talking about? She got it in the divorce settlement; it's hers."

"Trust me, she wants you to have half."

"You talk to her?" Derek asks carefully. He's been under the impression that they hadn't had any contact since she left for LA. Mark picked up his things and ran back to Manhattan and Derek didn't foresee a reunion on the horizon.

"I have, a couple of times. She's okay."

"I know, she told me."

Mark looks at him and Derek stares back until they both grin at each other, shaking their heads.

"We're so goddamn stupid," Mark concludes.

"Yeah, well."

"Fucked up too," Mark adds.

"I'm living in her house," Derek laughs self-deprecatingly.

"That's what I'm saying. Tell her you want out. She can sell that baby for over $5 million, easy. We'll go to Tribeca, live like we're ten years younger and you can bring along all the wine from your cellar so we can really have a good time."

"I don't know, Mark," Derek says uncertainly. He a sense of dread when he thinks about signing a document that will hang a condo around his neck and keep him in New York indefinitely.

He moved back with the intention to stay. He brought all of his things along, signed a probationary 12-month contract with the understanding that extending it will be only a formality. He's gotten settled in, began socializing with the other surgeons, and struck a peace with Mark. But the idea of having a place in New York freaks him out for reasons he can't quite figure out.

"It's not going to stay on the market forever."

"I just can't imagine myself there? Maybe that's the problem," Derek finally says when he grows uncomfortable under Mark's intense gaze.

He looks up to meet his friend's eyes and feels like Mark can see right through him. It's no surprise; they've known each other since they were just schoolboys. And now Mark has all the answers, even the ones Derek doesn't.

"You're not staying, are you?" Mark asks him frankly.

"What?" Derek protests a little too forcefully, a little too loudly.

"You're going back, to Seattle," Mark muses, like it all makes perfect sense to him now. The living at Addison's, the refusal to move, the fear of committing to a property, the absence of interest in at least 10 nurses who flirt with him on a daily basis.

"Oh please," Derek sounds unconvincing, even to himself.

"No, no, I'm right!" Mark exclaims, "You want to go back there."

"There's nothing there for me. I sold the trailer," Derek mutters.

"I wasn't talking about a box where white trash lives," Mark cuts in, "and you know it."

"New York is home. So, I don't want to buy a condo. That doesn't mean I'm not staying."

"Yeah, it does," Mark says and his voice is quiet. So quiet and understated that Derek wonders if he feels some sadness at the thought of his friend leaving again. Then he turns to Mark and sees him winking at the girl who's selling popcorn and he thinks he must have been seeing things.

Plus, he's staying put. In his ex-wife's house.

* * *

"Please tell me this thing is open bar," Alex grunts as he and Meredith stumble into Joe's for their pre-Thanksgiving social. 

"Keep dreaming," Meredith tells him, "it's two drink tickets and then you're on your own."

"Pathetic," he comments as he pushes his way to the bar, and pulls her along.

"Tequila?" He guesses.

"Nah, rum and coke? It'll last longer," she reasons.

"You heard the lady," Alex tells a new bartender and waits for their drinks. The others haven't arrived yet. Izzie got stuck in surgery, George and Callie were never on time for anything, and Cristina was probably stalking the ER for cases.

Alex and Meredith mingle and she politely keeps him company as he hits on most of the nursing staff. She finishes her second drink and heads back to the bar, fumbling with her purse, trying to fish out whatever cash she has on hand.

"What are you drinking?" She hears a voice next to her, and looks up to find a very attractive guy smiling at her.

"Ah, that's okay," she says, holding up her Visa triumphantly.

"That's what they want you to do," he says cheekily and then throws a $20 bill on the counter, telling Joe to serve her whatever she'd like.

"Thank you, but really, it wasn't necessary. Or expected," she tries to smile and make a neat exit, but he sits down on the stool and watches her expectantly.

"I'm Shane Chapman, hospital legal," he says warmly, and holds out his hand. Meredith hesitates before accepting it, because it reminds her a bit too much of a time gone by and because as much as she hates to admit it, he's extremely attractive and exactly the sort she was in the business of picking up. To make matters worse, he looked to be interested.

"Meredith Grey," she finally says, "surgical resident."

"I thought so," he says pleasantly and elaborates when he sees the quizzical look on her face, "I've seen you at the coffee cart at 6 am. Nobody's up and about at that time except for doctors and lawyers and I knew you weren't one of ours."

She smiles at his deductive skills, "how did you know I'm not a nurse?"

"You wear a lab coat," he smiles right back, flirting with her.

"I do," she confirms.

"And the letters Dr. are embroidered on it," he says sheepishly, causing her to laugh despite herself.

"Let me guess, you went to Harvard?" Meredith teases, rubbing her fingertip around the rim of the glass in front of her.

"I'm willing to overlook the mockery. UCLA, by the way."

"California boy?" She asks, getting a better look at him. He's tanned, definitely over 6' tall, with dirty blonde hair and pale blue-green eyes, not unlike her own. He's clean shaven and his hair is short but tousled. She imagines if she went to the Abercrombie store at the mall, she might see him shirtless in one of their posters.

"Born and raised," he confirms.

"You do know it rains here all the time, right?" She asks him, curious about why he'd choose to come up here to the land of grey skies and dampness.

"So everyone keeps telling me," he confirms.

"You don't believe it?"

"I'm in denial," he winks.

"Poor thing," she chuckles.

"Maybe things are looking up for me," he says, waiting for a favourable response out of her.

"Oh?"

"Well, you could let me buy you another drink…."

"I haven't even finished this one," she says, picking up her glass and swirling the deep brown liquid inside.

"I've been so entertaining that you haven't had a chance to?" He guesses hopefully.

"Do they teach you that in law school?"

"How to talk to a beautiful woman?"

"How to be presumptuous," she says instead.

"Yeah, they fit it into a seminar. Comes right after 'How to Overbill Your Clients."

Meredith raises her glass to her lips and finishes her drink leisurly. She can feel his eyes on her, but he's not staring in an intrusive way, and she's not unnerved by him, regardless of the flattery. When she puts the glass down, Joe places a full one in front of her, eyebrows raised. She meets his eyes for a second, then breaks the contact and turns to face Shane.

"So, how long have you been in Seattle?"

"Three weeks, give or take. Did you grow up here?"

"No," she says, considering how to answer most accurately, "I spent most my life out East. Boston."

"Harvard?" He guesses, remembering her bringing it up earlier.

"Dartmouth," she tells him.

"And now you're here?"

"And now I'm here," she confirms, "I guess the rain hasn't chased me away."

"There's better coffee here than in L.A.," he says appreciatively.

"A very important consideration if you work our hours," she says, still smiling. She doesn't know why her lips keep curling up this way. It's not that she's flirting, but she's enjoying the conversation and for the first time in a long time, she has somebody see her for something other than poor, sad Meredith who works long hours to avoid being alone while her Prince Charming is 3000 miles away so she can't break him over and over again. To Shane, she's just Meredith, tiny and dirty blonde, who holds her alcohol well and maybe has a more interesting backstory than your average Seattle resident. For a while, she's able to believe his version of events, that maybe she's good at small talk and not as scary and damaged as people think.

"Pizza kind of sucks," she says after being quiet for a long moment.

"Speaking of, you know where I found a great pizza place?"

She raises her eyebrows, waiting for a response.

"Portland," he tells her, "I drove up here from California and stopped there. This amazing place downtown – you'd think you're in New York."

Poor guy doesn't know why she doesn't want to think she's in New York, she thinks, sighing.

"I'd kill for a good east coast pizza," she says instead of launching into her sad, sorry tale.

"Well, why don't we go? Next weekend we're not working, if you're up for it?" Shane asks more tentatively than she'd thought he would.

"You want to drive down to Portland to have pizza?" She asks stupidly.

"That's the plan…"

Meredith looks him straight in the eyes and allows herself to imagine, for a tiny moment, what it would be like. To spend a weekend with him, to let him hold her hand, to have a meal with him, to feel someone's hands on her for the first time in 4 months…

"I'm really sorry," she says, and she means it, "but…"

"You're taken?" He guesses ruefully.

"I'm," she pauses, "taken," finally admitting to him and to herself.

"A surgeon?"

She can only nod, and concentrate on the drink in her hand.

"I'm better paid," he jokes, grinning and she lets herself relax again, laughing along with him.

"I figured as much," she admits.

"Okay, well I had a great time talking to you, Dr. Grey," he says, still his charming self.

"Me too," she agrees, "and next time you see me here, I owe you a drink."

"I'll take you up on it," he accepts graciously, giving her shoulder a squeeze before disappearing into the crowd.

Meredith looks after him, watching his broad shoulders, and the way his shoulder blades outline his back. She can tell he's either a runner or a cyclist, and his arms are nicely toned. Her thoughts are interrupted when Cristina throws herself on Shane's empty stool, and stares at her expectantly.

"Hubba hubba," she says, as excitedly as Cristina can.

"Hmm?"

"Surfer boy over there. I say you go for it. God knows it's been a while – it would probably be hot, fast, and sweaty, just the way you like it."

"Cristina!" Meredith looks around, not sure why she's so bothered that they might have been overheard.

"Wait, did you turn him down?" Her friend asks, sounding distressed.

Meredith takes a long breath, putting down her drink and starting to rip the napkin it's sitting on into long strips. Her hands are shaky and nervous and she suddenly feels stifled by the large crowd, and the noise all around her.

"I think I've made a terrible mistake," she says, voice wavering.

"Um, _yeah_," Cristina says, looking over Meredith's shoulder, at Shane, who is playing darts.

"No, with Derek!" Meredith tells her insistently, and feels the prick of tears.

She was ruined. He ruined her for other men. She couldn't flirt with one without holding back, she couldn't go on a simple date without feeling like she's cheating on him, and she couldn't even really accept that she was single. She was completely, utterly ruined for all time and she did all by herself.

"Christ, Meredith," Cristina says under her breath, "he's been gone for months."

Meredith's eyes just watered further. It made no difference to her that he'd been gone this long. In fact, she coped better in the immediate aftermath of him leaving. Then it was fresh and she had a brave face on and it wasn't so hard. Everyone had tried to distract her by going out at night and giving her all the good cases at work, but now she'd eased into a schedule and was becoming painfully aware of his absence. A big, fat, Derek-shaped hole permeated her day. Now, nothing smelled like him anymore, his stupid trailer had been sold and men were hitting on her as if she was a free woman.

"I shouldn't have let him leave like that," Meredith whispers, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Cristina takes a long breath, not sure what to say. She'd been expecting this type of reaction, but when it didn't come a couple of months ago, she started to believe it never would. Stupid. Only an idiot would think that Meredith could get over McDreamy so easily, so neatly.

"I'm sorry," she says, making use of a word that's nearly foreign to her.

"It's okay," Meredith sniffles, "it's not your fault. It's mine. He would have stayed, Cristina. He would have stayed if I asked him to."

Cristina puts he arm around Meredith's shoulder and awkwardly pulls her close.

"I'm still your person but I don't know how to make this better," she finally says, hating to embrace failure, but seeing no other choice.


	8. Chapter 8

**Posting another long-ish piece. I have guests this weekend so the next chapter won't be up until Monday. Just a heads up! **

**Thanks for all the reviews. I really like your plot-related comments. It's time that reality started hitting Derek as well, so this piece is a good place to start. You get some family interactions and some M/D as well. Hope it's to your liking!**_  
_

* * *

_I've been down on the bottom of a world full of lies  
I ain't looking for nothing in anyone's eyes_

"Meredith!" Lexie yells out, eager to catch her before she gets on the elevator and left.

Meredith turns around and waited for the younger woman to catch up to her. She has a feeling this was about Thanksgiving dinner, an invitation that Meredith thanked Lexie for before politely declining. It was a huge relief that Izzie had already picked out the largest turkey in Washington state and so she hadn't had to lie and make anything up.

"I know, I know," Lexie says apologetically, raising her hands in a gesture of peace, "you can't make it, but this thing will probably go late and so if you want to stop by after dinner for some pie or a drink, please come."

Lexie reminds Meredith of Susan. Very much so. And Susan would probably want her to go, or would drag her there like a sack of potatoes, kicking and screaming. It's not just that Meredith is trying to avoid Thatcher at all costs, but she's not comfortable enough around Lexie to consider her family. And the idea of showing up to a social gathering where Lexie and Molly will walk her around, introducing her to a room full of people wondering how a 30-something long lost daughter materialized out of thin air isn't exactly her idea of a fun time.

"Thanks, Lexie. If there's time, I'll try," Meredith says vaguely.

"Are you just saying that because you want to get rid of me?" Lexie asks, grinning and Meredith finds that she can't keep a straight face.

"Okay, you got me," she giggles, "but really, I'm just not sure Thanksgiving with a bunch of people I don't know is my thing. I'm sorry, maybe we can do something another time?"

"But you _will_ know them if you come..."

Meredith sighs at Lexie's persistence, and thinks about how to bring up her – their – father without being offensive. It turns out that she doesn't have to because Lexie gets it and broaches the subject herself.

"It's because of Dad, isn't it?" She asks softly, leaning back against the wall behind her.

"No," Meredith initially protests, but she knows how transparent she must be and figures there's really no need to put on an act, "well, partially. He doesn't want to see me and you guys should spend the holiday together. It's your first one after Susan died, and I don't want to intrude."

It's as heartfelt as Meredith can be, but at the same time she wants this conversation to be over, because she's tired of being the bigger person in this scenario. None of this is any more Lexie's fault than it is her own, but somehow when it comes to her family, she's always the one giving in, forgiving somebody to have them walk all over her, and willing to offer a second, third and fourth chance. It's exhausting and she wants to just do things in her own self-interest. Is it selfishness when it's self-preservation, she wonders.

"I talked to him. He knows that what he did is completely unacceptable. He knows," Lexie assures her.

"Even so, I'm not really itching to see him just yet," Meredith tells her honestly.

"Okay," Lexie relents, "but if you change your mind, stop by. You don't need to call in advance or bring anything – just yourself."

Meredith smiles back at her and nods. She likes Lexie enough that she doesn't mind grabbing a coffee with her once a week, but is not at the hugging stage, which makes this very awkward.

"So, have a good Thanksgiving," she says instead, backing up towards the elevators.

* * *

"Do you think I should have gone?" Meredith asks a pretty drunk Cristina, as George and Alex dig into the remnants of pumpkin pie. 

"This again!" Cristina slurs, dipping her finger into cold cranberry sauce and sticking it deep into her mouth.

"That's disgusting," Izzie mutters, snatching the plate away.

"Barbie, your ass is mine!" Cristina yells after her.

"She did invite me like three times," Meredith points out.

"I'm hungry," Cristina moans, dropping her head on the table.

"And we're pretty much done here. It's not like I want to watch football with the guys. I never even know what teams are playing."

"I need the sauce, Izzie! Hit me with it!"

"So maybe I can pop in, right?"

"How am I supposed to finish these three beers if nobody's feeding me?" Cristina demands to know of everyone and nobody in particular.

"What would you do?" Meredith asks her.

Cristina turns her head towards Meredith slowly, a glazed look in her eyes, as she concentrates on her friend's face almost like she's trying to figure out who she's having a conversation with. Apparently, recognition sets in and she opens her mouth to slowly formulate a sentence.

"Are you talking to me?" She asks, emphasizing every word.

"Oh for God's sake," Meredith exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air.

"Jeez, Grey, just go already," Alex says with a mouth full of pie, as he settles into the couch, "and bring back their leftovers too."

"You think I should go?" Meredith asks, full of hope that somebody is listening to her and has the answer to what's troubling her.

"I don't care if you should go," Alex reasons, "but you've been talking to an incapacitated woman with no sense of family obligations for the last 10 minutes and, well, it's kind of pathetic, even by your standards."

Meredith frowns, considering his words. She wishes somebody would just tell her what to do. Then should Thatcher do something like throw a pot of gravy at her, or better yet, throw her into a pot of gravy and cook her, she'd have an easy target to blame. Heaven forbid she made the wrong choice herself, again, and had to live with her own shortsightedness and fatal personality flaws.

"Maybe I'll go for an hour or two?" She says to herself, not bothering to look up and see Alex rolling his eyes and George joining in. Who needed them, anyway?

"Dude, I can't hear the game!" Alex whines, convincing her it's definitely time to get out of there.

* * *

Lexie squeals a little bit when she opens the door and finds Meredith on the other side. She pulls her into the house and hugs her happily, apparently not realizing that Meredith is bad at the hugging thing and stiff as a board. 

Molly appears, carrying Laura in her arms and Meredith comments on how big she's getting and what beautiful hair she has. The response to this is to hand the baby into her arms and she wonders when she became a baby magnet. Laura is lighter and smaller than Bailey's son, and mercifully exhausted, falling asleep against Meredith's shoulder, as she walks into the living room, meeting various college friends of her sisters'. To their credit, none of them look surprised at her presence, or think it's strange that her eyes are darting around the room looking for the one person who is conspicuously absent.

"Are you hungry?" Molly asks, leading her into the kitchen, "we have a ridiculous amount of food left over. I'm packing it into Tupperware for Lexie to take to work with her."

Meredith smiles at how motherly Molly seems, even though she's barely legal and a good decade younger than herself.

"Sorry," Molly says sheepishly, "it's just that with my husband gone, I need someone to fuss over. I think I'm nesting."

"This one isn't enough for you?" Meredith laughs, resting her cheek against Laura's tiny, warm head.

"Yeah, but she cries regardless. With Lexie, I get gratitude and better yet, indebtedness. It's a win-win," she shrugs, "so what are you good for? I made a pecan roll and it's amazing."

"I'm really full,' Meredith says apologetically.

"There's always room for a bit. I'll give you a small slice," Molly says, and picks up a knife, having made up her mind.

Meredith shifts the baby in her arms, surprised by how heavy she's become. She loves how Laura's little body is slack in her arms and how she sighs deeply if Meredith rubs her back. When Molly takes her back so Meredith can eat, she misses the feeling of fullness. She accepts a cup of tea as well and sits down in the kitchen, feeling more at ease around her younger half-sister. They are not competing with each other at work, Derek's never met her or smiled at her in an inappropriate way, and although she doesn't care about Thatcher, at least she knows that he's not comparing them and their accomplishments in some twisted way.

"It'll be a huge relief to have him back at Christmas," Molly says of her husband, and Meredith feels for her. She's a mess most days because an ex-boyfriend of hers was in New York. What if Derek were her husband and he was being shot at? She can't even fathom it, and doesn't want to try.

"The time will fly," Meredith tries to reassure her.

"Yeah, 3 and a half weeks is nothing. Right, baby?" She asks Laura, kissing the top of her head.

There's nothing more that Meredith can add, and she's sure that she doesn't have the intestinal fortitude to deal with Molly's situation any better, so she keeps her mouth shut and they sip their tea quietly.

"He's out there, sitting in the yard by himself," Meredith hears Lexie's voice behind her. She turns around and sees her standing in the kitchen doorway, with an unreadable look on her face.

"That's okay," Meredith assures her. There would be nothing more horrifying than being forced to interact with her estranged father.

"No, it really isn't," Lexie sighs, crossing the kitchen floor to join them at the table.

"You can't change over two decades of history," Meredith says simply, wrapping her small hands around the steaming mug.

"He's just so stubborn and immature," Molly adds, looking outside through the glass doors.

"It's fine," Meredith says, hoping they'd just stop talking about this and forget about the pink elephant in the room.

"It's not!" Lexie exclaims, "Mom would be _so _upset. He'd never do this with her around. And I feel horrible, okay? That he can be so good to us and so bad to you. It's like we know two different people."

The description actually reminds Meredith of Ellis. She had a dual existence in this world. Her colleagues respected her, and feared her. They thought she was curt, but brilliant and a great role model, for surgeons and women. Meredith thought she was callous and cold, and could count on one hand the good memories of her mother she had from childhood. She was grateful for the education and opportunities Ellis and her money afforded her, but that didn't make their relationship any easier to stomach.

"Listen," Meredith starts carefully, choosing her words and controlling the tone of her voice so she doesn't come across as combative, "he and I may never have a relationship. I know you don't want to consider that, but you have to at least accept it as a possibility. And six months ago, that would have bothered me. But now, I guess, it doesn't as much?"

"How can it not?" Molly asks her sadly, as Laura wakes up and stretches her arms.

"Because as much as you don't want to hear it, sometimes when you remove something or someone in your life who is making your life worse, you start to get better. Bit by bit, every day, and while in a perfect world, I would have a relationship with my father, we don't live in a perfect world. We live in this one, and he's caused me a lot of grief."

She keeps her eyes trained on the glass table top for a long time, afraid to meet their eyes, afraid that she's hurt them and that now they won't want her anymore either. But when she looks up, they're still smiling sadly, still the same girls they were 20 minutes ago when they excitedly greeted her at the door. And she thinks the three of them will be okay, and maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

The glass door slides open and Meredith lifts her head, finding that Thatcher is looking right at her, blue eyes meeting grey, neither budging.

"Hi, Meredith," he says and she thinks maybe she wants more than just enough.

* * *

"Mommy!!" The little girl screams, tears rolling down her chubby cheeks, as she runs after Kathleen's brown lab, who is triumphantly parading around with her Barbie in his mouth. 

"Andrew, please stop torturing your cousin," Nancy admonishes the evil doer who is rolling on the floor, laughing hysterically at the strands of hair that hang between the dog's teeth. She directs him to stand in the corner for a time out, and he grumbles unhappily but doesn't dare defy her.

"Wanna get snipped tomorrow?" Mark leans over and asks Derek.

"Scary thing is I can't really say no to that at the moment."

"I want at least one grandchild with our name!" Derek's Mom yells, managing to overhear them even though her head is stuck inside the stove as she inspects the turkey.

"Yes, Mom," he says automatically, shaking his head.

The doorbell rings, and Mark sits up in his seat, stiffening visibly. He clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth, left to right, as Nancy goes to answer the door.

"What's wrong with you today?" Kathleen asks, "you're like a deer caught in headlights every time the doorbell rings."

"Kath, you know how it ended between us," he tells her.

"What? Between who?"

"Meg," he says, exasperated, "and now I have to break bread with her."

"Meg Carr?" Derek's Mom asks, poking hear head out of the oven.

"Yes, Anne. Blonde, beautiful, married Meg."

"What in the world are you talking about?" Kathleen asks, confused by the entire exchange.

Nancy strolls back into the kitchen before Mark's had a chance to answer, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

"Neighbourhood kids wanting to play out on the lawn. God knows I wouldn't let them trample all over my grass, but you seem to be fine with it."

"So it wasn't Meg?" Mark asks, relief obvious in his voice.

"Why on earth would it be Meg?" Anne wonders.

Derek can't stand it anymore, and bursts out laughing until tears wet his eyes and his insides hurt.

"You magnificent bastard!" Mark exclaims, realizing he's been had.

"Language, Uncle Mark," Andrew pipes up from the corner.

"I'm sorry, I just had to. You would have done the same," Derek says, still laughing.

"You know, I'm willing to maybe forgive you this time, but only because I didn't see it coming at all."

"Why would you tell him Meg was coming over?" Kathleen asks Derek, obviously thinking they're both complete morons.

"Because he's a magnificent bastard!"

"You're hopeless," Anne sighs, turning back to supervising their dinner.

Derek gets up to see if he can help in some way, as a thanks to his mother that she hasn't asked either of them about Seattle or mentioned the past year in any way. It really feels like it's 2 years ago and nothing had happened, and they were all a big, happy family. He is passed the boiled potatoes and asked to peel them before they are mashed when his phone vibrates. Derek wipes his hands on a paper towel, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it in the garbage before reaching into his pocket. It's a text message from Meredith, and he's intrigued by it.

_So I saw my Dad today and it was okay. Holidays do weird things to you, huh?_

He reads it three times to make sure he didn't imagine it and then feels an indescribable need to call her immediately. She told him something important, completely unprompted and he can't very well reply with something as trite as "K" and call it a day.

She's giving him the inch he always wanted, so he mumbles something incoherent to his mother and ducks into the empty dining room before dialing Meredith's cell.

"Hey Mer," he breathes into the phone when he hears her voice on the other end.

"Derek! Hi! I'm sorry for disturbing your dinner, you didn't have to call me back."

"I really did," he says simply, "and we eat notoriously late, mostly because nobody in my family has any sense of time."

"Oh, okay then," she giggles and he wonders if she's had a bit of wine to make her relaxed and happy, "are you at your Mom's?"

"Kathleen's. She lives in a ridiculous McMansion out in the burbs, so it's easier to fit us all in."

"Didn't you want one of those on your land?" She giggles again and he decides that he really likes her just a bit tipsy.

"I wanted a large house. But I have some modicum of respect for architecture," he says, glancing through the window at the other McMansions, mirror images of each other, identical save for the colour of garage doors and shutters.

"Snob," she teases.

"Wine tonight?" He grins into the phone.

"No! Actually, I had only a glass way back, hours ago."

"Seriously?" He asks, incredulous.

"Is it because I sound happy?" She guesses correctly, and he chuckles in response.

"A bit, yeah."

"It was really…nice. Molly is a good cook and she sent me home with packed lunches for half a week. I don't know how anyone can eat turkey for 4 days straight, but I guess I'm about to find out. And then, I saw him. And he said hi and I said hi, and he asked how work was and I said fine and then he asked if you were coming over too and I just said no and that was it. But, no yelling, and no screaming and no being cooked in a pot!"

"Cooked in a pot?" He asks, not sure if he wants to know.

"Doesn't matter! Success has been had!" She says happily, and he wishes so much that she'd been this happy when they were together. She was such a different woman, so warm and wonderful when there wasn't a 20 year albatross around her neck, weighing her down.

"I'm really, really happy for you," he says, smiling as widely as he can, even if she can't see it.

"Thanks, Derek," she says softly, and his name rolls off her tongue easily. It's not so awkward to talk to him these days, and the long silences are gone.

"So you had a good Thanksgiving," he concludes, and he can swear his heart is swelling to twice its size, for her.

"I had a very good Thanksgiving," she agrees.

"Do you think you can forgive him?" He asks her, wondering if she's willing to discuss it further.

"I don't know if it's about that, exactly," she says thoughtfully, "you know how I have abandonment issues?"

He smiles at what he can only assume is a rhetorical question.

"Mmm," he just murmurs and waits for her to go on.

"Well, I think I got over the fact I didn't have a father a long time ago. And let's face it, there are millions of people like me these days. It's not _that_ traumatizing in the end. But what I hated him – and seriously, I really hate him – for is that he kind of set the tone for that. And so I have these issues that I let seep into my other relationships and ruin them. That's what I hated him for."

"We can't separate things like that so they don't affect other parts of life," he tells her, "so it was probably inevitable, you know?"

"Yeah, I think you're right," she sighs, "but I can't help thinking if I had two normal parents, I wouldn't have been such a freak show with you."

He chuckles at her choice of words and walks to the far corner of the room when the kids become loud in the hallway.

"You weren't a freak show, Meredith."

"No, I kind of was. I get now what you needed from me and it wasn't even a big thing. I don't know how or why I made it into one."

"We're creatures of comfort," he says, and it's the best answer he can come up with, "remember my complete inability to move on from a dead marriage?"

"Unfortunately," she says dryly.

"Sorry about that."

"I know you are."

"Can you forgive me?" He asks the same question he did before, substituting one man for another in her life.

"For Addison? Oh, Derek, that was a lifetime ago."

"For all of it," he corrects her.

"Don't you think I already have?" She asks, and he stays silent.

"I have," she confirms, "and I think I'm not so nutty anymore. That's good, right?"

"You were never nutty, but that's really good," he promises.

"And I told Molly I'd watch the baby next week for an afternoon. I must be crazy, but I kind of liked her. She's very, chill."

"Chill?" He laughs at her description of a 7 month old.

"You're only laughing because you're old and probably need to look it up in the urban dictionary," she retorts.

"Remind me to say that to you in a few years."

"Okay, but until then I get to be cool, and you get to be lost in a culture you can't quite relate to."

"You really wound me. Did you know Mark and I went to a Japanese restaurant in Manhattan last week and saw Britney Spears?"

"Did she have underwear on?" She asks with another infectious giggle.

"I didn't really examine her crotch, but I'll ask Mark and get back to you on that."

"Please do," Meredith says and they both laugh until his mother's voice disrupts them and he's forced to go.

"I'm really glad I got to talk to you today. And that you had a great day. That's great, Mer. Really, really great."

"I wanted to tell you," she says very quietly, "and I felt like I should."

"You definitely should," he agrees with her.

"I miss you," she says, even quieter than before, "I really miss you."

"Me too," is all he can say or he'll end up a pathetic, sad mess of emotional turmoil, "can I call you back later? After I've gotten out of here, or maybe tomorrow?"

"Call me," she says, her voice a bit stronger.

He flips the phone closed, and braces himself, spreading the palm of his right hand against the cool wall in front of him, and leaning forward, resting his weight against it.

"Derek?" His Mom asks, walking towards him.

"I'll be right there, Mom," he says, not looking up.

"Are you okay?" She asks, worried at his demeanor and reaching out to touch his forearm.

"Fine," he says, finally turning towards her, "let me set the table?"

"Okay," she agrees, "you know where the silverware is."

"I do," he says, kissing her cheek before walking past her.

"Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you still in love with this woman?" She asks, and it's the first time ever that she's asked about Meredith, or his feelings or his intentions or anything about that part of his life, which seems like a dream now, and probably a nightmare to her.

"Yes," he says, almost immediately, and certainly without hesitation.

"Why did you come here?" Anne's voice is kind and he knows she's talking about his return to New York and not his presence at Thanksgiving dinner.

"Because I'm a coward," he says bitterly, "and I thought by coming here, I was saving myself."

"Oh, Derek," she trails off, feeling profoundly sorry for him.

"And you know what the worst part is, Mom? That I keep letting her apologize for everything, when I did a lot of damage to her. So much damage. I set in motion a lot of what went wrong between us."

"I'm sure you didn't do it on purpose," she adds knowingly. It isn't in his nature to be cruel, and she can't imagine he would have changed that much in the last year. Fundamentally, we stay the people we are.

"But I did it anyway," he says sadly, then tears his eyes away from her, composing himself once again. He's not ready yet to hash his relationship out with his mother and doesn't want her to get the wrong idea about Meredith. She'd be an easy person to blame in all of this, but he knows it takes two to tango.

"Do you know how much I love having you here for the holidays?" She asks him as only a mother could.

"I know, Mom. And I love being back."

"I love having you with us. You're my baby and you'll always make my day by coming. I love all of you, but you're my boy, who made me a mud pie and ripped out my favourite pink rose and put it on top. I will always look for you in a crowd,"

"Mom," he says, aware of the tears that Meredith brought on, but his mother insisted on encouraging further.

"But it's also okay if this isn't home for you anymore," she says, pulling him into a simple hug. He has to bend down to accommodate her height, and waits until she releases him a moment later.

"You're a good boy, Derek. You've always been one. And now you're a good man too," she tells him and he thinks he believes her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Here you go, an update a day early. :) I hope you like it although it's a bit shorter than the preceding ones. I wanted to flesh out Nancy a little bit more, because the show made her very one-dimensional. And I wanted to emphasize how different Meredith and Cristina are, because it seems on the show that's been getting lost by the wayside as well. We are definitely nearing the M/D reunion, so hang in there! I really appreciate all the reviews, and hope you keep them coming. They've really given me something to think about as I keep writing.  
**

* * *

_Sometimes my burden seems more than I can bear  
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there_

A freak snow storm hits New York just days before Christmas, and Derek finds that his elective surgeries have been cancelled to keep the ORs open for the inevitable parade of emergency victims. By noon, Derek realizes that hanging around the hospital is futile; between car crash injuries and elderly falling and breaking their hips, arms, legs and other assorted bones, he has no chance of seeing any OR time today. He gathers his things and ventures outside into relative calm.

The blizzard conditions of the early morning have gone away and left behind a pile of snow. Derek squints to avoid the flurries landing in his eyes as he slowly trudges toward the subway station. The snow crunches beneath his feet, light and fluffy and offering little resistance.

The ride home is quick on the nearly empty train and he ducks into the deli down the street from his house to pick up a couple of sandwiches, figuring not many places would be delivering today. He takes a long sniff of the panini, warm and toasty, with the cheese melting down the sides, peeking from between the bread slices.

He hurries the rest of the way, eager to have his lunch and change out of the wet socks he's in. If he was less cultured, but a lot smarter, he'd pick up a pair of rubber boots and leave his shoes at work. But he can't quite stomach the thought of rubber with his expensive suits, and so he's dealing with wet socks and freezing toes.

As soon as he's inside, he kicks the shoes off, groaning at just how cold his feet are.

"Derek?" He hears Nancy's voice from the kitchen, and hangs his head in defeat.

He's really not in a mood to spend the day with her, and furthermore has no idea how she got a key. Which makes him think all the others have a key as well, and he wonders whether they routinely snoop through his things when he's not home.

"Nancy? What the hell?" He asks, dumping his laptop bag in the hall and shuffling into the kitchen.

"Relax, I have a surprise for you," she says, sensing he's about to launch into a rant.

"And you couldn't have called ahead?"

"What's the point of being related if you have to call ahead? Really, Derek, have you been gone for that long?" She muses.

"How did you get in?"

"Kathleen gave me the key," she says, walking past him to the breakfast nook.

"How did Kathleen?" He asks, exasperated, but concludes that it's pointless and really, he doesn't want to know, "you know what? Never mind."

Derek is about to ask her what she's doing here anyway, when he sees something tiny and orange out of the corner of his eye, as it scurries across the room.

"What. Is that?" He asks slowly, taking a deep breath.

"She," Nancy starts, picking up the kitten, "is a 9-week-old American domestic. And she's yours."

"Please tell me that you're not serious," he says, annoyed, but can't help walking closer to inspect the beast.

"You love animals, Derek," Nancy says, rolling her eyes, "you'd try to save a dead pigeon's life when you were a kid, for crying out loud."

"I'm a surgeon! I'm a busy…man," he stutters, "what am I supposed to do with a cat?"

"First of all, it's a kitten," she says, handing the fur ball over to him, "and that's why people have cats. Because they don't mind being home alone like dogs and because you don't have to walk them 9 times a day."

He handles the kitten gingerly. It's a tiny orange thing with gentle white striations along the body. She's so small and so thin that he worries he'll break her, but she doesn't seem to mind being handled by him.

"Why did you get me a kitten?" Derek asks softly.

He's secretly enjoying the warmth of the kitten's body in his hand and she's quite possibly the cutest animal he's ever seen, but he's not about to give Nancy the satisfaction of knowing that.

"Because I didn't want you to spend Christmas alone," Nancy says in a controlled voice, but there is a good dose of pity involved.

Derek can't help but laugh at this given that he's told each of his sisters at least twice that he'll be coming over to Mom's on Christmas Eve and to Nancy's the following day.

"You do know that I'll be coming for our annual two-day Eat-a-thon on which Jesus was born?"

Nancy just rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed with his snippy response.

"You know what I meant, Derek," she snaps right back.

The kitten meows in his arms and Derek bends down to put it on the ground, next to the kitty litter box that Nancy set up in the corner. The last thing he needs is for it to pee on Addison's expensive, imported Italian tiles. The kitten sniffs around, and walks around the room before pawing at Nancy's pant legs. Nancy must sense Derek's amusement and that he's growing attached, because she softens and tries a different tack with him.

"I know this year's been hard on you, Derek," she says to a pair of raised eyebrows, "and I'm not the shrink in the family but I thought maybe if you came back home, _once_ you came back home, you'd start being you again. Back with your things and your old friends and your family, and maybe it could be like before you left. Obviously not everything," she motions around at the house they're in.

"I'm getting used to being back here," he tells her lamely, and then crouches down, beckoning the kitten to come back. He's entranced by her curiosity and large, expressive eyes.

"I thought you'd be happier once you got back here," Nancy continues and her voice takes on a strange, almost sad quality. It's so shocking because it's so rare with her – she's stoic and calculating and always unreadable.

"I'm happy, Nance," he says absentmindedly, reaching for the kitten's collar. She turns her small head into the palm of his hand and rubs her cheek against it. She doesn't know it yet, but he's fallen in love with her and so with a simple touch she's cemented her fate.

"No, you aren't," she shakes her head, "not really. I think you're okay, but you're not happy. You go to work and you like your job and you show up to all the family stuff we do that you would have lied to get out of a couple of years ago. But then you come back here to this empty house and it does something to you. So that you're not really happy. I can see it, Derek. We all can."

"A lot changed in the last year," Derek sounds bitter, even to his own ears, "so maybe you should give me a break."

"I care. Okay, Derek? I care, and I'm sorry that it's like this for you. But it's obvious you don't want to talk about any of it to us, so I figured maybe you'd benefit from a pair of different ears."

"I thought you said you weren't the shrink in our family," he mutters, hating how he feels under a microscope with her and his mother and Mark and the whole lot of them.

"Just your oldest sister," she quips.

"Well, thank you for the cat," he grumbles, not willing to acknowledge just how much he likes the gift.

"You always did need a woman to boss you around. Now you've got one," she teases and sticks her tongue out at him. For a moment, she reminds him of his childhood, back when she wasn't so serious and made him peanut butter sandwiches and put Superman band-aids on his knees when he'd fall off his bike.

* * *

"Meredith," Cristina hisses through the door, trying to catch Meredith's attention while she gives instructions to her interns in the CT scan room.

Meredith raises her head and shakes it slightly, not done looking at the scans yet.

"Your patient isn't getting any less terminal," Cristina says loudly, and Meredith stalks out, not shocked at the inappropriateness of her friend's comment, but embarrassed at what her interns must be thinking.

"Cristina!" She spits through her teeth angrily as they round the corner to a quiet hallway.

"Oh, please, Mer, you can't hold their hand like that constantly. Sink or swim, baby. You think I had people hold my hand at Stanford?" She snorts, "Give me a break. They're mostly useless but you'll never know which one of them has two brain cells to rub together until you stop watching over their shoulder."

"That's just so," Meredith stops, rubbing her temples in a circle, "so not the point."

"Well, whatever, forget about them. I have something that will make both of our years a lot better."

"Oh?" Meredith asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Remember how Coyle's doing this study about growing tissue-engineered vascular drafts? Well, apparently he got this huge grant he's splitting with some bigwig at Duke who's made this his life's work. And it's incredible stuff, Meredith," Cristina speaks quickly, "he's looking mostly at small diameter vascular grafts and you know how they never had much success in resisting thrombosis _in vivo_?"

Meredith just nods, even though she has absolutely no idea what Cristina's talking about. She was never that interested in cardio, and one undergraduate summer spent in a research lab was all the evidence she needed to tell her that she'd be a miserable failure at it.

"And he's looking for – get this – two residents to join him on the clinical side of things! Two, Meredith," she whispers, looking around them, paranoid at who might be overhearing this, "and it just so happens that Burke spoke to him about me months ago, and he approached me and asked if I knew anyone else who would be interested."

"And you want to recommend me?" Meredith squeaks a little too loudly, causing Cristina to narrow her eyes.

"Well, duh!"

"Oh," Meredith sighs.

"Could you be any less enthused?"

"Cristina, I'm flattered," she tells her, and she really is, "but I'm not even in Cardio. I'm sure one of your fellow residents would get a lot more out of it than I would."

"They're all mediocre," Cristina says flatly, "and half the time they're checking their watch to see how long before the shift is over. Worse yet, they're all married or married with kids," she crinkles her nose in distaste.

"So they're not interested in devoting another 20 hours on top of their killer 80 to this?" Meredith guesses.

"I guess they'd rather be cleaning up spit-up at Chuck-E-Cheese," Cristina says as if she can't possibly imagine a more distasteful thing.

Meredith grins at how consistent her friend is. No matter what else is going on in the world, Cristina stays the same, feels the same, speaks the same, acts the same. It's such a relief sometimes.

"I don't know if _I_ want to do 20 extra hours," she finally admits. It's not that she doesn't want to work long hours. They've even provided her some solace in the last few months, but to give up every spare moment to her career seems excessive.

"Are you kidding me? This is perfect of people like you and me. We don't have to go home, get barefoot and cook dinner for someone. We don't have brats waiting to be taken to soccer. This could do amazing things for your resume. You've got to start thinking about the future."

Cristina's eyes shine with excitement, as her crazy hair spills out in a mane, framing her face. She's clearly been re-energized, and reminds Meredith very much of the crazy, type A personality she met on her first day at Seattle Grace.

"What do I need to pad my resume for?" Meredith wonders. She was never really interested in teaching, so she's got no obsession with tenure. She doesn't have the competitive drive of her mother, and frankly, the idea of being Chief kind of turns her stomach.

"Look at what happened to Bailey," Cristina exclaims, then pulls Meredith by the elbow into an empty exam room, "she got complacent and thought that being good is enough. And what happened next? Mrs. Bambi lapped her like an Ethiopian in the Olympics. These people sit back and calculate and next thing you know you're in resident land forever. And if you don't make Chief, who knows when and if you'll make Attending. So then what? We go to the suburbs and diagnose runny noses?"

"You're not a general practitioner," Meredith rolls her eyes at the shameless display of paranoia in front of her.

"Nuh-uh, not gonna happen to me," Cristina steamrolls right over her, not hearing a single thing she said, "we're perfect for this, Meredith. What's there to think about even?"

Personal life, family, a man I desperately want to take me back and tell me that I'm still the great love of his life, Meredith thinks.

"It's perfect for _you_," she says instead, softly.

"Oh come on!" Cristina exclaims, frustrated by the whole exchange, "what, now suddenly you have different goals?"

"You know how when Burke took off, you were sad at first?" Meredith asks her, wincing at the brief expression of upset on Cristina's face, "but then, you got back here and Bailey let you scrub in on all the best surgeries for two weeks and it's as if somebody breathed new life into you?"

"I've wanted to be a surgeon forever."

"Exactly! That's exactly it – you knew what you wanted. And this," Meredith motions around them, "the hospital, it's you. You love it here. You are incredibly good at what you do and someday kids in med schools around this country will read about you and some crazy technique you invented."

"And you don't want that?" Cristina asks doubtfully.

"I want to be good, sure. I want to be great, even. But when Derek left, and Bailey gave treated me with kid gloves and gave me all the good surgeries and Rodrigues put me on her team, that was great. For a month. But it didn't make me okay."

"That's why you need this," Cristina's voice and posture epitomize confidence. She's sure she's found something to life Meredith out of these blues, and can't conceive of why anyone would turn the opportunity down.

"Except that I don't," Meredith says, sitting down on the gurney in the centre of the room.

"You really don't want this?"

"I really don't think I'm that interested and I don't think it would bring me any satisfaction."

She hates the disappointment she sees on Cristina's face, but she's sure about this. She can't go on living a sham, and she can't pretend to be Cristina or try to solve her problems the same way. They're each others' person, but they're different and Meredith sees now just how different of a life she wants than her friend.

It's a cruel reality that's taken her a long time to come and accept. If Cristina wants to be #1, Meredith doesn't have to match her. And if Cristina can bounce back after being left at the altar because she really was never interested in marriage in the first place, that doesn't mean Meredith should give up on the one guy she could ever conceive of being her husband.

This would all be very funny if it wasn't so tragic.

"I really appreciate that you thought of me," Meredith says gently, "but I'm going to have to pass up on it."

"Oh God I'll get stuck with one of the soccer Moms now."

Meredith chuckles, "It'll be good for you. Expand your horizons."

"You're absolutely sure?" Cristina asks one last time, hoping for a different answer.

"I think I am. No, I am," Meredith is certain she gets it now. It's like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, interlocking because they fit perfectly and they fit no other way except for one way. And when you find the two pieces that go side by side, they lock in and a picture reveals itself. Meredith's puzzle is missing a few pieces, but she can see the rough outline of it, the frame and the emerging details. And she really wants to fill in the rest.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I know we all want Mer/Der back together, and the good news is you've only got a couple of chapters to go. I don't want to rush this story and although you have 2 people who have accepted that they miss each other, there are always logistical and other reality-based things that have to be overcome first. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and you'll have the reunion before this week ends.**

* * *

_I was born here and I'll die here against my will  
I know it looks like I'm moving, but I'm standing still_

It's three days after New Year's and Derek is going crazy in his house. The hospital cuts down on elective surgeries during the holidays and they've also given him plenty of time off, probably as an incentive to extending his contract. He's going stir crazy, and there are only so many times a day that you can amuse a kitten with a long piece of string.

Derek has learned that playing with his hands has deadly effects, so he spent an inordinate amount of money at the pet store buying fleece toys and catnip mice. The kitten has proven herself to be fierce and doesn't react well if he's ignoring her. The scars on his hand and forearm are proof of that. She also has a tendency to climb into his lap and then jump on his desk, at which point she proceeds to stare him down until he reaches for one of her toys.

The staring down reminds him of one person in particular and so he names the kitten Miranda, alternately horrified and pleased with himself.

After twenty minutes of pulling an old shoelace across the floor while Miranda stalks then pounces on it, he's had enough and a grumbling stomach suggests he should prioritize.

Yesterday, he went to the grocery store and bought crap he never eats. For some reason, he had an indescribable urge to have tacos, and so he bought a taco kit along with a half a pound of lean ground beef. He unwraps the meat and places it into a skillet, slowly browning it while he stirs the contents of the seasoning pack and water together. When it's all added together and bubbling on the stove, it smells delicious and he goes about grating cheese and shredding lettuce. He's gone one tomato left and it's just what he needs to complete the meal.

Miranda walks between his feet, rubbing herself against his leg every once in a while. He's resolved not to give her any table scraps, but feels bad that she can smell the food that's cooking, so he spares a couple of kitty treats her way and she munches happily.

The tacos he bought were the new kind, with the square bottoms that stand upright. He's amused by them and wonders if somebody made a killing on that patent. As he assembles his first two tacos and bites into one, he's happy with the result, but suddenly the kitchen feels larger than it is and he's distinctly aware of being alone.

Tacos are not a solitary food, he thinks. They're exactly the sort of thing you make for a group of people and then you fight over the last of the ingredients and down a nice, cold beer. It's more than a little pathetic to eat them on your own, with a kitten begging at your feet.

Without thinking, he reaches for his cordless phone and blindly dials her number. Of course he still knows it by heart, although it's not really necessary as he's programmed her as his #2 on the speed dial. He'd put her in the #1 slot, but his Mom is there and he feels it would probably seem unhealthy. Given that he calls her only a couple of times a month, whereas he checks in with his mother every week.

"Hey Mer," he greets her when she's barely had the chance to utter a hello.

"Derek?" She guesses, and although he can't see her, he thinks she's smiling. It's how her voice sounds when the corner of her lips curl up.

"Hi," he repeats before asking her if she's busy. She assures him that she's not doing anything at all. She has another 45 minutes before she has to go in, but she's been up and about for hours, doing laundry.

"So, Happy New Year," he wishes her warmly when they're done exchanging pleasantries.

"Only three days late, but I'll take it," she jokes but doesn't hold it against him. He sent her a very nice Christmas card and the next day a little pre-decorated tree was delivered to her house, courtesy of him.

_Last Christmas wasn't great for you. I hope this one is better. Just doing my part, _

_D._

The accompanying note was almost hysterical, all things considered, but she loved it all the same, and stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans before anyone else had a chance to mock her for it.

Izzie raised one eyebrow before gushing about how sweet and cute and thoughtful it all was. Meredith had sat in the kitchen, eyeing the thing, barely two feet tall and tastefully decorated in pearl and gold shades. There was a star at the top, which twinkled in the barely lit room, and caught Meredith's eye anytime she turned her head.

Alex arrived later that night, confused about why Izzie would bother putting up two trees. Meredith had no choice but to tell him from whence the second one had materialized and he looked at her as if she'd grown a second head.

"Dude, it's called an airplane," he just said before grabbing an apple and disappearing upstairs.

"How was New Year's?" Derek makes conversation as he starts cleaning up the mess in his kitchen.

"I worked!"

"No!" He sounds aghast.

"Well, I didn't have plans, and people were willing to cover two of my shifts to get the night off. So, I thought, what the hell. Just another night, right?"

"It's when every freak in the city comes to the hospital, Mer," he points out, not incorrectly.

"I found that out within the first 10 minutes of my shift," she laughs.

"Well at least you've earned yourself a couple of days off."

"You speak the truth," she says, hopping up and sitting on the washer in her laundry room. She finds it peaceful in here and loves the smell of detergent in the air.

"So, guess what Nancy bought me for Christmas?"

"A dartboard with my face on it?" Meredith quips, and when he doesn't immediately answer, she worries that she's offended him. "Sorry!"

"No, a set of Ginsu knives," he says and waits for a moment before bursting out laughing. "You can't think I was being serious?"

"You know, for a moment there, you put the fear of God in me. Ass!" She calls him affectionately.

"Do you hate me now and are therefore unable to continue this conversation?"

"No!" She says a little too quickly. Her feet are dangling in the air, and she accidentally hits a heel against the dryer. It's this jittery, unsettled feeling that comes over her anytime she speaks to him that's making her do crazy things.

"Okay then. I'll tell you. She got me a kitten."

"Like a real one?" She squeaks, completely unaware of the fact Derek even liked cats.

"No, one of those fake ones they sell in Greenwich Village. Yes, a real one."

"Seriously?" He hears her ask, along with a faint banging noise in the background.

"Yep," he says, crouching down to pick Miranda up, "she's been here for a couple of weeks now and we're getting along great."

"Are you?"

"Well apart from the deep scars my arms will now bear, yes."

"What does she look like?" Meredith asks, genuinely curious.

"Well, she's tiny. And orange with a bit of white," Derek cradles the phone against his shoulder so he can flip Miranda over on her back and observe her closely.

"Leave it to Nancy to get you a red headed pet," Meredith mutters although he senses it's all in jest.

"She's orange, not red," he corrects her, wanting there to be no confusion involved, "and she's got really beautiful green eyes and likes to paw at my heels any chance she has."

"Fierce," Meredith observes.

"That's what I keep telling people! I named her Miranda."

He pauses while Meredith makes an immediate connection and laughs.

"You know I'm gonna tell Bailey you named your cat after her, right?"

"Because the mere fact isn't humiliating enough?"

"Not for me!"

Miranda meows at his feet insistently, jealous of the attention he's paying to the woman on the phone. Derek grabs her with one hand, and as soon as she's close to his chest, she digs her claws into his shirt and hangs on for dear life. Meredith must hear her, because she asks if that's Bailey's doppelganger.

"Yeah, she just likes to peek into my shirt pocket." Derek is embarrassed about how soft he's grown, but in a very short time, Miranda has become his only companion and he can't imagine denying her anything. It horrifies him to think how wrapped around a child's finger he would be. If he ever had one. Danger, Will Robinson….

"Do you let her sleep with you?"

"Ah, well, she sleeps where she wants to…"

"You do!" She exclaims.

"Well, she doesn't snore," Derek rubs Miranda's back as he teases Meredith. He thinks maybe she could use a cat she could be affectionate with openly and talk to and wouldn't be judged. She did love Doc, after all.

"You've developed a mean streak in New York," she pouts.

Miranda's claws dig a little too deep and slice through the skin of Derek's chest, and he yelps as he fights to disentangle her.

"What a traitor," he mutters and Meredith can't help but laugh.

"I'd love to see you with her," she says without thinking and he takes her up on the offer.

"Do you want pictures?"

"Really? You have some?"

Derek roots through his cabinets, searching for a treat to distract Miranda with so he can stay on the phone with the woman he wishes was sleeping in his bed and clawing at his chest.

"I took her to my Mom's for Christmas so the kids could play with her," he says, ripping open a sealed bag of moist treats, "and one of my nieces got a digital camera so she took about 400 photos from just about every angle."

"Are you in some of them?" She asks slyly.

"Unfortunately, yes. But I can easily filter those out."

He waits and waits, wanting to know whether she wants him to filter them out. And hopes and prays she doesn't.

"Send me all the good ones," she says vaguely, but he knows her well enough to be able to read between the lines.

"Okay, e-mail tonight?"

"You're on."

* * *

The next morning, Meredith shows up to work 10 minutes earlier than she ordinarily would, armed with three pictures and a roll of Scotch tape. She quickly changes into her scrubs and then opens her locker door wide before tearing the tape into short strips and rolling them. She sticks one at the corner of each picture and then presses the photos into the metal until they're lined up, one above the other.

The first one is of Miranda lying on her back in what she can only imagine is Derek's mother's bathroom sink. Her belly is whiter than the rest of her, and nicely rounded. When Meredith saw the photo, she had to laugh, never before having seen a cat willingly in that position.

The second one is a wobbly, out of focus shot that Derek must have taken himself. His left hand is reaching towards Miranda and she has her front right paw raised in attack. Meredith figures blood must have been drawn shortly thereafter.

The final one is her favourite. Miranda is standing on a table top, with her tail raised uncharacteristically high. Her head is cocked to the right, in a studious pose. A profile of Derek's shape occupies the rest of the picture, and his nose is precariously close to the kitten's. They are truly face to face and his dark hair contrasts violently with the bright orange of her fur. His eyelashes are long, and the blue iris of his right eye barely peeks out beneath them. But it's there and she can see it, maybe because she's looking for it.

"You didn't!" She hears Cristina gasp behind her and when she turns around, she finds an incredulous look on her friend's face.

"What?" Meredith asks defensively, "I like animals."

"Oh, you're just a regular Dr. Doolittle," Cristina mocks, "is that why you wore a chastity belt when you were dating the vet?"

"What does Finn have to do with Derek's cat?" Meredith asks, genuinely confused.

"Meredith!" Cristina exclaims, hitting her in the forehead with an open palm, "wake up! This is just pathetic already. When's the last time you got laid? When he was still here? That's more than 5 months ago. You're so hung up on him now you have pictures in your locker like we're back in junior high. What are you doing?"

"So we talk!" Meredith yells right back, and sits down on the wooden bench so to get out of Cristina's face. "What's wrong with that? I talk to a lot of people."

"And you don't have their face plastered for everyone to see," Cristina points to her locker door, then sits down. The muscles in her face go slack and she looks at Meredith for a long time before repeating her question, this time less judgmentally.

"What are you doing, Mer?" She asks, then loops her stethoscope around her neck and leaves the locker room.

Meredith sits there, passively aware of other people coming in and out, opening their lockers and then slamming them shut. There is chatter and people passing around steaming cups of coffee. Somebody crunches on cereal at one of the benches when Izzie's hand lands on her shoulder, encouraging her to look up.

"I think it's sweet," she says and for the first time ever, Meredith is really grateful for her expressions of sentimentality.

"Thanks, Iz," she sighs, but stays sitting where she is, still busy contemplating her life choices and mental state.

A minute later, George comes running in, obviously late for his shift, and in a hurry to change.

"Aren't you on at 7?" He asks over his shoulder as he balls up his jacket and shoves it into the tiny locker not made to house winter clothing.

"What?" She asks, looking up in a daze, unaware of the time.

"It's 5 after," he says and only then notices that her locker door is open and that there are new photos gracing the inside.

"Derek got a cat?"

"Her name is Miranda. After…you know," she snorts.

George walks around the bench to take a closer look and she lifts up her eyes as well.

"You think I'm crazy too?" She asks pitifully.

"Because you're still in love with him?" He catches her completely by surprise with his frankness, "no, I don't."

"I'm pining, right? That's what I'm doing, isn't it? Sitting here, putting up pictures like some kind of Tiger Beat reader or something, looking up at the dreamy guy that I can't really have."

"Yes," George agrees, crossing his arms, "except for the part where you can have him."

"I broke him! My God, I broke him so bad he couldn't even stick around, he had to put 40 states between us for good measure," Meredith gets up and starts pacing. It gives her something else to focus on.

"And he broke you first. Or broke you right back. You don't have to be a martyr for a cause here, Mer," George says kindly.

"No, I know. I don't put him on a pedestal and he said to me the other day, how he knows that he's always leaving. And without giving me a real say in the matter either. I don't have any illusions about him being perfect, but I can't fix him, can I?" She asks rhetorically, "So I'm more concerned with what I did."

"And now you go home and sit on the phone with him for 3 hours. I came over a couple of weeks ago to talk to Izzie and walked past your closed bedroom door. But I could still hear you. You were laughing and sounding so different. And he calls you all the time. Don't you think Izzie tells me?"

"Well I'm glad I provide fodder for your gossip," she shoots from across the room.

"That's not what this is about. You want him and he obviously wants you. You've worked out some kind of peace between you so what is the point of all of this?" George motions at the photos, "You can sit here and waste 2 more years with a phone call and an e-mail and a picture every couple of weeks or you can go out there and bring him back. Or stay with him. But then I'd miss you," he adds sheepishly and suddenly he's the same old loyal-as-a-puppy George.

"We talk, but that doesn't mean he'd want to go on round 3 of the Dark & Twisty Meredith Carousel."

"That's exactly what it means," he says and she hates how calm he is about this conversation. Like it's not a life-changing decision he's proposing and like it's so easy and so obvious that she must be some kind of idiot to not recognize it.

"It's not like he's ever even mentioned it." George must betray a state of confusion, because she clarifies it for him, "you know, me coming there?"

"Meredith, you know I love you, right?" He smiles easily.

She just stares and waits him out. An intern runs in and asks them if they're going on rounds this morning and Meredith snaps at him in a manner uncharacteristic of her usual coolness. But she can't stand it now, to be the focus of all the gossip again, and she can only imagine what has already been overheard this morning.

"I love you like a sister. You're messed up in your own way, but I love you like a sister. He's not going to send you an engraved invitation, Mer. You've got to just, show up."

"In New York?" She stares at him as if he's sprouted a second head.

"It'll be fine. It'll be good. You want to."

"No, I don't," she says petulantly.

"Yes, you do."

"I do," she wails, burying her head in her hands, "but I can't, I can't just go there."

"But you want to, so you should," George's logic makes no sense, probably not to him either, except when you really get down to it, it makes perfect sense.

"It's okay to want him. You haven't dated anyone since him. You haven't even been interested in dating anyone. Has he?"

"It's not like I've asked him," the answer comes as she fights with the ball in her throat. He hasn't got some curvy nurse on the side, has he? No, she decides, that's not his style. Plenty of curvy nurses here made it plainly obvious they were interested and he never even spared them a glance. What about some artsy fartsy med student in his class? Who conveniently shows up for extra tutoring even though she has an I.Q. of 165 and he's immediately taken by her brilliance. No, that would be inappropriate. Although he slept with her when she was a subordinate, but a student? That's going too far, she thinks. Another attending…a competitive, but warm woman, close to his age and with many letters after her name. Probably having put in at least two years in Africa, likely immunizing children and bringing them back from the brink. Someone exotic looking and tall, who would catch his eye and capture his heart and put a little padlock around it like Meredith should have done if only she weren't so stupid.

"Oh God, he could be," she moans after a sliding show of supermodels parades around in her mind.

"He's not," George assures her and the confidence catches her attention.

Meredith narrows her eyes. "How do you know?"

"You are the great love of his life. Do you think that goes away because he put 40 states between you?"

"It could." Her voice is small and unsure of itself.

"Did it change for you?" He asks softly.

"No."

Admitting it isn't the problem. It's that George actually has her contemplating the possibility of seeing Derek again, in the flesh. And the thought of it overwhelms her, as she remembers him standing in this very room, so many times with her. The touch of his hand on her chin, her cheek, the back of her head. His voice calling out her name in public and in private. His dark blue scrubs, his scrub cap with boats on it, the black cashmere sweaters that were soft and pliant in her hands. Everything about him is back, like he never left, if she only allows herself a moment or two to think about him.

"It's okay to sometimes put yourself out there. Look how great you and Lexie are now. Your attending loves you. You're doing good, Mer. Really good," he emphasizes.

"I don't know if I can do this, George," she whispers and he feels so sorry for her that he pulls her into a tight hug.

"I know. But you can. He's the piece that's missing."

Her fingers grab at his lab coat, clutching on to it for dear life.

"I want my McLife back," she says.

"Then you have to go out and get it."


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you everyone for the reviews. I'm happy anytime you are enjoying the story, and love to hear all about it. I have to admit that initially, I wanted to end the story with the two of them seeing each other for the first time in months. And in a way that's what I've done, because I've separated it into Parts I and II. I guess in the end I felt that I needed to see them together, at least for a little while, to see how they are different around and with one another. And because, really, after all the angst they deserve to spend their energy in other ways. So you'll get Part II for those reasons. Anyway, here is our last building block, hope you like it.**_  
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* * *

_Every nerve in my body is so vacant and numb  
I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from_

Derek is running late for his mother's birthday dinner and he curses the New York traffic which is crawling along. His surgery was more complicated than he anticipated, and he felt grimy and sweaty. By the time he was done with his shower and changed into a nice, dark suit, he knew he wouldn't make it.

He over tips the cabbie and jogs down half a block to the restaurant. The maitre d' informs him that the rest of the party has arrived (no shit, he wants to say), and he's lead to the private room upstairs. The younger kids are home with babysitters today, but there are enough older ones and teens around to add to a lively atmosphere.

"Happy birthday, Mom," he greets her warmly, kissing her cheek, before he slides into an empty seat to her left.

"Derek, I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it," she beams at him.

"Your 70th birthday? Wouldn't miss it for anything in the world."

"Uncle Derek, they have cheese shaped like balls in the salad," Thomas informs him as if it's the most important aspect of tonight's dinner.

"It's bocconcini, Tom," his father tells him, although it means nothing to a 10-year-old.

"I don't like it. It tastes funky," he sniffs the cheese and sequesters it to the corner of his salad plate.

"Sorry, Derek, the kids were hungry," Kathleen apologizes that they all have food in front of them. Derek waves her off good naturedly, while skimming the menu.

"The white wine is excellent," his Mom recommends, holding the bottle over his glass until he nods in acquiescence.

"Mmm, I like it when it's a bit tart," Derek comments after taking a sip.

"Can I have some too?" One of his 14-year-old nieces whines from across the table.

"No," Nancy tells her flatly.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to get arrested tonight?" her mother shoots back and Derek has to admit he's not envious of their complicated teenage mother-daughter relationship.

He settles on an appetizer and entrée and waves the waiter over. The rest of his family return to their salads and their chatter. Anne thanks him for the flowers he had delivered to her house and insists he didn't need to do so. He reminds her that she in fact loves flowers and that he's done this every year since he got his first job.

"I must admit, the bouquets have improved with your salary."

He grins at her because he knows full well that her favourite ones were the tiny, pre-packaged ones he got at the grocery store when he was delivering newspapers for $15 a week.

"I'm glad you liked it, Mom," he smiles at her, knowing she's about to admonish him.

"You shouldn't spend your money on me. I keep saying this to you kids and nobody ever listens," Anne shakes her head at the whole lot of them.

"I keep saying we should have the one who makes the most money do all the gifting," Derek's youngest sister, Sarah pipes up.

"That's because you're a starving grad student," Derek laughs.

Sarah is getting a PhD in social anthropology and is off on a Pacific island half the year. He knows she's brilliant, but can't help teasing her about "working hard" on the beaches of Papua New Guinea or Fiji.

"Not to mention, it's your dear husband that makes twice as much as the rest of us," Nancy grins victoriously at her sister.

"Oh, stop it, all of you," Anne interrupts, but there is no anger in her voice. "What would your father say, sitting here talking about money like this?"

"Good job, kids?" Kathleen guesses.

Derek wraps an arm around his mother's shoulders and whispers that Kathleen is most probably right. His father was a hard working man and had little patience for laziness. He was never rich, but raised a large family on a modest income. Derek admired him, and at the same time didn't really know him. He didn't have the benefit of having been older, like Nancy or Kathleen. His memories of his father are fuzzy and grainy; he can't quite figure out what memory belongs to him, and what he's seen in an old photo or been told by his mother.

"You look more and more like him as you get older," Anne says, studying her son's face closely.

"I'm not old," Derek pouts, although he doesn't tell her about all of the four grey hairs he ripped out of his head last week.

"Same chin," she says, squeezing Derek's, "and bone structure and the dark, dark hair. The girls don't have it quite that black," she muses.

"Do I also have his intellect and undeniable charm?" He wonders.

"Hmmm, and the ego," she winks, shaking her head.

They are interrupted by one of his nieces who brings up dessert and wants to know if she should pace herself accordingly. The other kids hear ice cream mentioned and immediately push their salad plates away, no longer interested in the baby spinach leaves or the cherry tomatoes.

Derek turns to Sarah's husband, who is next to him, and asks about the new car Greg bought.

"I got the more expensive model when she wasn't looking," he tells Derek in a whisper.

"She won't notice?" Derek laughs.

"Ah, you see, your sister still can't drive a stick shift to save her life. Therefore she'll never go in, and really, what woman pays attention to the rims and tires?"

"None that I know of," Derek agrees.

"Exactly, my friend," Greg says, "plus you know how awful she is about numbers. She's grateful to me for paying our bills."

Derek is amused by the intricacy of the conspiracy and how well thought out it is. Greg and Sarah make an odd couple – she walks around in her brown Birkenstocks most of the year and has little interest in accumulating material possessions. Greg is used to being wined and dined by his clients and likes the finer things in life. They work, probably because they allow each other enough autonomy to do the things they want without judgment. Years ago, when they got married, Derek didn't get it. They didn't seem like your normal average couple; they lived apart half the year while she was out in the field and each of them had their own hobbies they were perfectly happy pursuing without the other. Meanwhile, Derek and Addison were "Derek and Addison" – not because they loved hanging out together, but because social custom dictated it. Now, Derek thinks maybe Sarah has the best marriage of the lot, where you can still see where one person ends and the other one begins and he has a strong suspicion that if he is ever to have a chance in hell with Meredith, this is probably a way it could work. He only wishes he would have understood that sooner.

"Do you know much about contracts?" Derek asks him casually, as he places the napkin in his lap.

Greg is some kind of corporate lawyer who works at a fancy firm downtown, but Derek's never discussed his work with him in detail and doesn't know exactly what he specializes in.

"Enough to talk to a Doc about them," Greg flashes his pearly whites, "what do you need?"

Derek turns his head to check on whether Anne can hear them, but she's engrossed in a conversation with Nancy's husband about possibly joining them in Florida this spring break.

"When I took this job, they put me on a 12-month contract. It's really a formality, because I know I'll be offered a tenure-track position with full privileges in September."

"Okay," Greg waits for the rest of the story.

"It says I can break it in the first year with 6 weeks of notice," Derek continues quietly.

"Did you get a better offer?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Ah, so it's a Seattle thing?" Greg guesses correctly and Derek wonders how much his sister has told him. He knows he's a major gossip source for the family, but is rather past the point of caring.

"No!" Derek's denial is a knee-jerk reaction, "well, not really. Okay, I don't know what it is."

"But the bottom line is you want to go?"

"I…think so," Derek says carefully and waits for the panic to set in. He hasn't told anyone else yet that he's very seriously considering his options. Greg is the first, he's his test subject. All Derek feels, however, is a sense of relief, and a little bit like he's no longer living a complete lie.

"So give 6 weeks of notice and go back," he winks, "for more fun than you've had here."

Derek chokes on the wine he's been drinking and coughs quietly, hoping not to attract attention to himself.

"It's not like that, Greg."

"You don't have to explain it to me," he is assured, "and legally speaking, I don't see an issue here, to be honest."

"Well, except that I've been teaching. And I managed to get the class when somebody went on sabbatical, so it wasn't part of my original contract."

Greg puts down his salad fork, and thinks about it for a minute.

"When is the term over?"

"First week of May," Derek tells him, "but it's only February now."

"Are you dying to leave?" Greg asks frankly, "and by that, I mean, can you not fathom staying here until the end of term for fear of a body part falling off?"

"How did I let my baby sister marry you?" Derek wonders, realizing that Greg is more like Mark than he previously thought.

"You were swayed by my expensive appearance and fine academic pedigree? Hey, sort of like why Addison married you."

"You're such an asshole, Greg," Derek laughs and gets an elbow in the ribs from his mother.

"Too loud, Mom?" He asks sheepishly.

"Too crass," she substitutes and then turns her attention back to the kids whining about how hungry they are.

"Look, my advice would be to finish the school term. Even if you're not contractually obligated, it wouldn't look good. Besides, I know you, Derek. You've got this sense of responsibility and propriety and there is no way you'd leave before those kids wrote their exam."

"No, you're right," Derek agrees. His reputation was always of utmost importance to him, and he has been keenly aware of what people think of him. It's also this need to be the good guy which has caused him to make some wrong decisions in life.

"Then you're free to go," Greg concludes.

"Yeah," Derek is quiet, "I guess I am."

"Is this confidential?" Greg asks before sips of his wine.

"For now?" Derek asks, "Just until I've made my decision."

"Sure thing."

And just like that, the conversation is over, but Derek doesn't bother telling Greg that he's already decided to go. He thinks he knew it at Thanksgiving, and then it only became more obvious at Christmas. Hell, even today, he's having a nice time with his family. Everyone is in a good mood and they've gathered for an important event. He loves being an uncle to a herd of kids and he thinks his mother has been a lot happier since he's been back and she hasn't had to worry about what he's been up to. But _he_ hasn't been happy. He hasn't been miserable, but to settle on a halfway point between those extremes isn't enough for him anymore. The best part of his day is when and if Meredith calls him, and if the high point of your existence is tied to a woman who lives on the other side of the country, what is the point of staying where you are? He's tired of constantly feeling flat, with no peaks and no valleys. Life has to hurt sometimes, too, he figures, otherwise you may as well medicate yourself into happy la-la land.

The entrees arrive and everything smells terrific. The food is great, the wine is plentiful and the company includes most of his favourite people in the world. And Derek is happiest because he can go home after this to put a big red X on his calendar. He has no idea when he's going back, he has no idea if she really wants him there and he has no idea what he'll do if she doesn't. But he's making a move, getting out of this quicksand he's been stuck in for the better part of a year, and it feels like he's free again, and in charge. And it's the best feeling in the world.

* * *

"We ordered way too much food," Molly states conclusively, after the waiter puts down the 5th dish. 

"It's Chinese, it goes right through you," Lexie tells her before piling a bit of each dish on her plate.

They invited Meredith out for dinner while Molly's husband looks after Laura. She hadn't seen much of Lexie at the hospital and hadn't seen Molly at all since Christmas and felt bad telling them that she kind of hated Chinese. Well, that she really hated Chinese.

"Snow pea shoots with garlic," Molly says when she sees Meredith eyeing the platter of steamed greenery.

"Seriously?" She asks, completely unaware that such things existed, much less that they were sold for human consumption.

"They're fantastic," she's told and spoons some on the plate before tasting one. It's got a surprisingly pleasant, mild flavour. It's a little bit bitter, but coated lightly in butter and garlic and a hint of soy sauce.

"Not bad," she concludes after swallowing.

"Have more," they encourage her and she complies, tasting a bit of everything. It's still not her favourite cuisine by far, but realizes that the value and importance of this dinner has nothing to do with the food and it makes it easier to swallow plate after plate of noodles and fried rice.

Lexie is wolfing down her meal and Meredith makes a mental note to have her befriend Izzie. They could sit in the kitchen and devour baked goods. In fact, she imagines they could be good friends. Both are perky at 6 a.m., and just a little bit naïve about the way the world operates.

"Don't mind her, it's nervous tension," Molly informs her.

"What about?"

"Andy. Her old med school flame," Molly clarifies when she's met with a blank look on Meredith's face.

Meredith puts down her chopsticks, which she's not suited to using anyway and turns to Lexie.

"So, what's the deal with Andy?" She asks eagerly, because she'd rather talk about that than eat, and also if there's an Andy, it could be that he's her Derek and if he's her Derek, then Meredith's Derek is free and clear. It's a little bit pathetic, she knows, but her spirits are nonetheless lifted.

"Ugh," Lexie grunts, then swallows her food, "he's calling me twice a day all of a sudden. Like it wasn't him who dumped me last year!"

"It was mutual," Molly whispers to Meredith, who stifles a grin.

"Yeah, out of the blue he's decided that, hey, guess what, it's time to settle down! Live like a real man."

"Ah, a commitment-phobe?" Meredith guesses, very familiar with those, seeing as to how she was one.

"Just a party boy," Molly tells her, "but a nice guy. Had to get it out of his system, you know?"

"I don't know why you're defending him," Lexie rolls her eyes, turning to Meredith, "I don't know why she's defending him."

"Because, Lex, you've been in love with him since you were 20 years old and you're both idiots. But idiots who will end up together, so what's the point of me hating him?"

"We're not going to end up together," Lexie protests.

"Plus, Mom liked him," Molly says and this pacifies Lexie, at least momentarily.

"So, where is this Andy guy?" Meredith asks, eager to continue a conversation about NotDerek.

"Back east," Lexie snaps, "which makes this all the more pointless."

"By this, you mean?"

"Him wanting her back," Molly supplies, "he's made that perfectly clear."

"And you're not interested?" Meredith asks, pouring herself a cup of the jasmine tea in the kettle on their table.

"It just feels a bit like getting back on the same old bike you've had for years."

"You haven't outgrown that bike," Molly points out fairly, "have you even dated anyone since?"

Well, there was the time she tried to pick up my boyfriend, Meredith thinks but keeps it to herself.

"He's doing his residency at CHOP. I'm supposed to have a relationship with a guy in Philly for the foreseeable future?"

Meredith plays with the napkin in her lap, slightly uncomfortable about how close this hits to home.

"Do you miss him?" She asks quietly.

Lexie pushes her plate away, finally done with her dinner.

"Every day," she says after thinking about it, "but that's not really the point, is it?"

"Isn't that exactly the point?" Meredith wonders, a little on Lexie's behalf, and a lot on her own.

"It's bad enough that we couldn't even hack it when we lived together. Which we did, by the way, for three years. And now it's miraculously going to work from opposite sides of the country?"

"You're talking to somebody whose husband was in Iraq for months," Molly says dryly.

"Point taken."

"If he's making this big overture, don't you think he's serious this time?"

It's an honest question, and one Meredith has been considering for a while. She's been talking to Derek regularly, and sharing all sorts of things with him. He hears about her bad days, the patients she lost and the stupid mistakes she made at work. She lets him know she's looking for a new car, since the Jeep suicided, confides in him about George and Izzie and how awkward they all feel about the situation and tells him all about her bonding sessions with her sisters.

She doesn't feel like she is leading him on. When something big happens to her, be it good or bad, she wants to tell him. And he's made it a point to apologize many times for leaving her time and time again. They are in a good place right now, and she feels she is serious about trying again. She hasn't told him so, but she sees things very clearly now and can't imagine her life in 5 years or 10 without him.

He knew last year she was the love of his life and she admits to herself now that he is as much the great love of her life. She has no idea what to do with this, but she's certain she's on the brink of a big decision. Things are about to change, and she can only hope it's for the better.

"It's not that I doubt him." Lexie says, her eyes big and honest, "it's that I feel like I'm always the one risking everything and taking a leap. And usually, also the one who ends up shit out of luck in the end."

"That's just the way it is in a relationship sometimes," Molly argues, "two people are not always equally strong. Some of them just need more time to get there."

Ain't that the truth, Meredith says to herself.

"You'd get over it? Just like that? Really?" Lexie is skeptical when she addresses them.

"Aren't you over it?" Meredith asks her kindly. "If you weren't, would you even be considering giving him a second chance?"

Lexie sighs deeply, probably aware that they are right, but still there is a resistance there, and it's called self-preservation.

"Maybe I could call him tomorrow," she finally compromises and Meredith feels a genuine sense of happiness for her. Not just because she can now stop worrying about Lexie's non-existent designs on Derek.

"I think you should," she tells her, "and just really listen to what he's saying. You at least owe yourself that much, right?"

"Okay," Lexie agrees, then surveys the table in front of them, "don't tell me you guys are done? It's a sin to throw away all this food."

"Is she?" Meredith asks.

"Yes," Molly says as they watch Lexie clearing plate by plate, "it's best not to look."

Meredith laughs as the food disappears in an orderly, systematic way. She has to admit she's had a nice evening, Chinese notwithstanding. This must be what having a family and family ties is like and she has to admit, it's kind of nice.

The waitress brings them the bill and Meredith throws a couple of bills on the table before excusing herself. She has a night shift and would like to go home and change before, if possible. Molly makes her promise they won't let such a long time pass next time and with that, Meredith rushes out of the restaurant.

It's drizzling and she jogs over to her car, then sits in the driver's seat for a moment before fishing out her cell phone out of her purse.

"Hey you," she says, smiling when she hears his voice on the other end of the line, "sorry I didn't call yesterday. It was so late by the time I got home."

Derek immediately interjects, telling her that she's welcome to call whenever she'd like to hear his voice, and if that should be in the dead of night, he didn't see it as necessarily a bad thing.

"You're such a letch," she laughs, and settles in for a conversation, because she doesn't care about changing out of these wet clothes all that much anyway.


	12. Chapter 12

**Here we are, at the end of Part I. I'll just continue Part II in Chapter 13, because I'm too lazy to start a second story. Thank you for the reviews, they are helpful and so often very, very funny. I thank you for entertaining me! I hope you like what we are transitioning into - it was time for these two to see each other again and spend some time together. I think they've earned it. Like I said before, I originally wanted this story to end this way, and sometimes I still have my doubts, but alas, I shall continue. It might be 3-4 days before the next update - you can blame Harry Potter for setting me back in my actual job.**_  
_

* * *

_Don't even hear a murmur of a prayer  
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there._

Meredith sat nervously, waiting for the Chief. Patricia answered phone call after phone call, and Meredith concentrated on the clicking of her fingertips against the keyboard in front of her. She fidgeted in her seat, picking at the loose threads of her scrub pants. Her toes curled upwards, scraping the bottom of her shoes over and over again. She was also aware of the way her jaw was clenched, her bottom teeth grinding down against the top ones. The hinge of her jaw was sore, but she couldn't let go and couldn't relax.

"I'm sorry dear, it seems his conference call has really gone long," Patricia smiles at her, "if you need to get back to work, I can have you paged when he's finished?"

"I'm actually done for the day," Meredith says, eyes darting between Patricia and the door, "so I don't mind waiting. And I really do need to see him today."

"Okay then. I have a couple of more interesting magazines," Patricia winks and procures a couple of tabloids.

Meredith isn't interested and knows she can't concentrate on them, but maybe flipping through them mindlessly might make the time go by faster.

One of them has a cover of celebrity babies, and she's a little bit shocked at how many are spit images of their fathers. Little Shiloh is a dead ringer for her blonde, blue-eyed father, Chris Martin's daughter has his sleepy eyes and Heath Ledger's girl may as well be named Heatha.

Her mind wanders to what Derek's child would look like. Would it have his hair and eyes and that knowing smirk on its face? Would it come running up to her, grabbing her leg with chubby fingers, wanting to be picked up and cuddled?

The thought of having Derek's child stuns her and hurts like hell. She flips the magazine closed and tosses it on the side table, like she's been burned. It's not that she hates the idea of being the mother of his children; it's that she loves it and it doesn't scare her, except for the part where she fears he may not want that at all.

"Meredith?" The Chief's voice booms over her and she whips her head up. He looms large and she feels like a little girl again, the one who would sit in her Mom's office, doing her homework while they whispered around her. Hushed tones, nervous glances, tense body language. She never felt comfortable around the two of them, and it's only recently begun to make sense to her.

"Dr. Webber!" She exclaims and feels stupid about it. After all, she made the appointment to see him and this is his office. Why should she be so surprised by his presence?

"Would you like to come in my office?" He asks her and she jumps out of her seat, coming to stand by his side in a quick moment. He tells Patricia to hold his calls, and offers Meredith a cup of coffee, which she politely declines. She's come here for a specific purpose and he better let her spit it out before she loses her nerve. She doesn't have time for two sugars and a cream.

The door clicks shut behind them and she takes a seat in one of the two chairs placed opposite the desk. The Chief follows suit, sitting down in his chair, the black, shiny leather creaking under his weight.

"What can I do for you, Meredith?"

He never calls her Dr. Grey when they are alone together. At first she found it patronizing, like he would put on a front in public, but in private, she was a shy little girl with pigtails. Later on, she realized that there was only one Dr. Grey for him – her mother – and with the complicated feelings and memories she evoked, Meredith could not blame him for wanting to use a different name for her.

"I'm here to ask you for some time off," she starts her well-rehearsed speech, "and I know that it is only March, and therefore early in the year. But, I would like to take two weeks to go away. And in light of the fact that I never took my bereavement leave when my mother died last year, since I was myself recuperating, I would like to ask you to consider granting me the time. As of tomorrow morning, preferably."

She knows she is speaking quickly, the words tumbling out of her mouth. But she has to get it out, in the way she's practiced, because straying from the script might make her sound unhinged.

"Meredith, relax," the Chief instructs her, "and please, breathe."

"Okay," she says eagerly, wanting to show him how compliant she is with his orders.

"I was going to speak to you about your hours in any case. You've logged an enormous amount. Ordinarily this would not be a problem. Ordinarily, I would welcome a resident with that type of work ethic. Ordinarily, I would praise them in front of the others and hope to instill that type of initiative in everyone."

"But?"

"But when you log more hours than Yang three months in a row, I start worrying that you are compensating for other things in your life, and maybe hanging around these halls is becoming unhealthy."

"Dr. Webber," she interrupts, but he won't have any of it.

"I say that to you, Meredith, because that's what I did. For thirty years, in fact."

"So then it's not a problem to take time off?" She wonders hopefully.

"On the contrary; I was going to suggest it myself. By my estimations you've accumulated some four weeks of vacation, and the fact you would like to use some up is a relief, to say the least."

Meredith exhales and moves to stand up.

"Are you going away somewhere?" He asks casually, but she knows he's fishing for more than a destination name.

"New York," she says carefully, "hopefully tomorrow morning."

"I see."

"So, thank you for being understanding," Meredith hopes the expression of gratitude won't have him pressing her further.

"I'm retiring. In June," he drops the tidbit of information out of the blue, catching her attention.

"Really?"

"Yes, really this time," he smiles ruefully, "how can you miss me if I just won't go away, right?"

She smiles back awkwardly, unsure of how to respond.

"Adele wants to move to Arizona, where her two sisters live, and I do love golf. I chose this job over her for three decades and I think it's high time I stopped doing that."

"I think she's probably very happy to hear that," Meredith comments.

"I intend to offer my position to the person I originally chose for it, the first time around," he adds for clarification, but is met with an equally blank look on her face.

"Did Derek not tell you what happened then?" He asks, genuinely surprised that she seems to have no idea.

"No. I assumed that you didn't offer it to anyone when you decided to stay."

"I decided to stay," he confirms, "but not before I offered it to somebody who turned it down."

Meredith's head is spinning. Can't be Burke, she thinks. He spent his whole life wanting this. He saw this hospital as hallowed ground, as _his_ hallowed ground. He wouldn't have turned the offer down. And it makes no sense, because the wedding fiasco happened later, so he'd have had no reason to turn the job down. It couldn't have been Mark. He had no idea Addison was leaving and he's so cocky he would have paraded around like a puffed up peacock, letting everyone know he's defeated the others. And Addison left because she felt there was nothing left for her here, so that ruled her out. Cristina's perverted old supervisor would have done anything to ingratiate himself, and yet he booted it back to California with is tail between his legs.

That only left one very obvious suspect.

"Derek, why, he wanted…I don't get it," she confesses.

He wanted that job so badly. He said the interview hadn't gone well. He was heartbroken. He didn't talk to her about it much but she could sense in his demeanor that something weighed heavily on his mind. It was a seven out of ten. Why would he decline?

"I have to admit something to you Meredith. I'm not proud of it, but I did interfere at first. It's just that Ellis had just died and I promised her I would keep an eye on you. I was acting with the best intentions in mind."

"What?" She feels very out of the loop and it further brings home just how far apart she and Derek were in terms of communication back then. Stupid, stupid, she thinks. Stupid and shortsighted.

"I warned Derek about what this job could do to him. And you," he allows, "I told him that it has a way of taking over your life and the sacrifice would be too great."

"You held him back because of me?" She asks in a small voice, terrified that she's cost Derek so much more than she previously thought.

"No, I just overstepped my bounds and treated the two of you like you couldn't handle your own affairs."

"Well…" she laughs bitterly.

"I offered him the job after interviewing all the candidates because he was the best. He had the best patient rapport and he could raise us a lot of money. Derek was a rainmaker, and he put people at ease. He looked good, he was smart and had a very good pedigree. He was also somewhat of a favourite son, to me."

"And he said no?"

The Chief shrugs, "He chose you."

He chose her. He chose her and she didn't choose him back. She left him standing in front of a hundred people, in an expensive suit. A black suit you wore to a wedding or a funeral, and in this case it was the best of both worlds wrapped into one. She broke things off and left him there and never explained to him, not in so much as a word. She didn't talk to him for weeks afterward and let him leave to lick his wounds on the other side of the country. And she loved him all the while and didn't choose him, not until this morning when she woke up and knew she was ready.

The weight of responsibility on her shoulders was enormous.

"He made the right choice," the Chief tells her, sensing the storm raging within.

"He shouldn't have chosen me," she says quietly, "he should have taken the job and now he would have had something."

"Now he's going to have you," he tells her frankly.

"I can't, I can't even begin," she gasps for air, afraid she'll start hyperventilating if he doesn't stop telling her things. She wants to get out of this room, out of this hospital, away from everything.

"He's going to have you, and if he wants, he's going to have this job as well," the Chief promises.

"What?" She asks, completely disoriented.

"He is not me and you are not Adele. Or your mother and your father. You're nobody but you, and I think that this old fool," he points to himself, "finally realized it and I think this young fool," he points to her, smiling, "sees it too. So go, and bring our Chief back."

"I don't think I wield that much power over him," she tells him honestly.

"He loves you and where you are is where home is. It's why I am moving to the desert and it's why he'll come back here."

"I cost him so much," she whispers.

"We're people, Meredith. That's what we do. But the payoff is pretty good here, don't you think?"

She just looks at him, like the desk between them is as wide and deep as the sea.

"I think you've got a flight to pack for," the Chief says, resorting to a more professional voice, and she knows she's been dismissed.

* * *

"I'm going to be a surgeon, not a researcher or a geneticist," Derek's student whines over diagrams of Okazaki fragments. 

Lee is young and impatient and sees no value in learning a lot of theoretical biochemistry. He wants his hands on a scalpel, and all this extra stuff seems like a waste of time.

"It's like building blocks. You stack them together, and the base isn't exciting and it's not why you're stacking them, but without it, you get nowhere."

"We could cut out half of the material this way," Lee mutters.

"You know, Lee, I went to a conference once where Kornberg – the younger – said that doctors don't know anything about science. I think he meant it in jest, but he had a point there. I went on a 6-month fellowship to a cancer research lab and there were undergraduate students who knew more than I did. Why is that? Because we don't put a lot of emphasis on this. And maybe we shouldn't, but that's no excuse to know nothing about it."

"I guess," the student compromises, flipping through his genetics textbook in order to ask another half a dozen questions.

"So if you use a plasmid with a specific antibiotic resistance gene, and you clone it into a cell line, you have to maintain the cell line in a medium containing that antibiotic, right?"

"Exactly," Derek says, encouraged.

"But then why do you have to test the cell line to see if the gene is being expressed? If the cells are alive, doesn't that mean they've got the plasmid?"

"They've got the plasmid, but that doesn't mean the gene was incorporated into it, necessarily."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"A number of reasons. This isn't my specialty, but sometimes the enzymes don't cut properly or you've got a problem with sticky ends. Either way, you've got to test for the presence of the gene."

There is a knock on the door that interrupts them, and Derek looks up to find Elena, Lee's lab partner, sheepishly asking to join them.

"It's just that I have the same questions and the exam is tomorrow, so I might as well save you some time, right?"

Derek smiles patiently at her and invites her in.

"The more, the merrier, right?"

She nods enthusiastically and procures a large bag of beef jerky and another one containing candy gummies.

"For you," she tells Derek and he doesn't have the heart to tell her he finds the spread revolting.

"So, back to our plasmids," he says, drawing a simple diagram of one for them, "as I said, once you think the cell line is expressing your cloned gene, you have to check."

"By doing a Western blot?" Elena guesses correctly.

"Yes, but there are other means as well. You could do binding assays and run it on a flow cytometer as well."

"Is this on the exam?" Lee pipes up, eliciting laughter.

"Just for you, I might put it on as a bonus question," Derek winks.

"Flow cytometer…." Lee enunciates as he writes it down on his notepad, "got it."

"How would you do that?" Elena asks, truly curious.

"Well, say you have a protein that you know binds the protein your gene is transcribing, right?"

"Like a receptor?"

"Sure, absolutely," Derek confirms.

"What you could do is get such a protein, in recombinant form, usually coupled to an Fc portion."

"Of the antibody," they fill in and he has to admit he's proud of their retention skills, given that he taught this section of the course.

"Very good, Lee," he praises his student, "do you know why we'd couple to the Fc portion?"

Lee chews on his pencil thoughtfully, "not really sure, Prof. Shepherd," he admits.

"Well, think about what we need to detect the protein," Derek starts but his cell phone vibrates, jumping up off the desk excitedly.

He checks the number and frowns before answering.

"Hi," he greets Meredith.

"Derek," she sounds out of breath, like she's calling him at the tail end of her jog.

"Hey, what's up? I have a couple of students here, so could I call you back?"

"No!" She exclaims and he's immediately worried that something bad has happened and she needs him and needs him this instant.

"Okay, hang on a sec," he tells her calmly, in contrast with the way he feels, then covers up the mouthpiece and turns to his students.

"Could you two excuse me for a few minutes?" He asks them and they dutifully pick up their things, ensuring him that it's no problem – they were due for a coffee break anyway.

When the door closes, he turns his full attention back to Meredith.

"Okay, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"Good! I'm…good," she says, sounding strange, "but I need a favour from you."

"Shoot," he says easily, ready to be at her beck and call if need be.

"Canyoupickmeup?" She tumbles out and he has to take a moment to play it back in his head.

"What? Pick you up? When?"

"In six hours," she squeaks out in a tiny, unconfident voice, "at JFK."

"What?" Derek chokes on his own question, and stands up, for no reason at all. It's not like he has to get going right now.

"It's just, Derek, I haven't seen you so long," her voice is soft and full of longing and when he thinks about hearing it in person and seeing her in front of him in 6 short hours, he's overwhelmed with a feeling of warmth that spreads through him as his heart beats wildly through his chest.

"Come! You're coming for sure, right?" He asks, almost desperately.

"I'm boarding the flight in 15 minutes," she assures him, "so can you get me? I mean, I can take a cab, but I don't even have your address and I don't know if it's far and I had no idea if you'd be home anyway…"

"Meredith, you're rambling," he says with a smile, feeling a lot more comfortable all of a sudden. This is a Meredith he is familiar with.

"Sorry," she says sheepishly.

"Of course I can get you. Just let me know the flight number and I'll be there. Of course. You don't even need to ask," he assures her.

"And it's okay?" She wonders, "that I'm coming, I mean? It's okay? I don't have to stay with you or anything, I just couldn't sit here anymore and talk to you on the phone. It's…I can't do the phone thing anymore."

"No more phone things. Phone things suck. I can't see you over the phone," Derek finds himself rambling, matching her word for word.

She laughs on the other end of the line, and then gives him her flight information. He writes it down carefully, and asks her to read it back to him, just to make sure he has it right.

"I can't wait to see you," he murmurs in a voice he reserves for her and has had no cause to use in almost a year.

"Me too," she sighs.

"Six hours?" He asks, wondrous.

"Only six," she tells him warmly before saying goodbye and he thinks about how it could be the last time she has to say bye on the phone, from so far away and he's suddenly antsy and jittery and nervous and can't sit back down and can't slow down his erratic pulse.

"Come in," he yells when Lee and Elena knock on the door.

"We're not interrupting, are we?" Elena asks.

"No, I'm done," he tells her, "but so are you," he concludes and they look puzzled.

"It's a straightforward exam, guys," he promises, "and I'm a straightforward guy. I'm not going to screw you. You guys are so well prepared. You know what you need to know and then some. You know your stuff. Go home, have a nice dinner, a long shower, get a good night's sleep. It'll be more valuable than sitting here, rehashing things."

"I'm paranoid I'll fail," Elena admits, sounding jut a little bit panicked at the prospect.

"You won't fail," he assures her, "and why would you sit here and worry about it now? It's an exam, not life. What are you going to do, worry about it forever?"

"You really think we know this stuff?"

"I really think you do," he tells them and reinforces the idea of getting enough sleep and taking their time reading the questions carefully. There are no tricks on the exam, he tells them, and you can make it as difficult for yourself as you choose to. But it is not inherently difficult and the material is logical.

They seem calmer by the time he sends them off, and tells them he'll be in a couple of hours before the exam tomorrow if they have any last minute issues. Once they're gone, he gathers his things at lightning speed, intensely aware of a ticking clock that's ticking nowhere but in his head.

He grabs a cab, which allows him to make several stops on the way. He goes and picks up groceries to stock his fridge with. Two boxes of sugary cereal make their way into his bags, along with chocolate milk, gourmet coffee beans and the cream cheese spread she likes to have on her bagels. Then he heads to the liquor store where he grabs two bottles of fine Australian shiraz, and finally to a pharmacy for some air fresheners and bathroom supplies.

At home, he changes the sheets in one of the guest bedrooms. He wants her in his bed. He wants her desperately, with him, alongside him, her skin warm and pliant against his. But they haven't seen each other for eight months and haven't been together for another 6 weeks before that and he can't be presumptuous. And he doesn't want to ruin this _thing_ before it's even begun.

For a moment he panics that he should have bought her flowers, that she at the very least deserves that, but it's not like her to be flashy and she'd hate a scene at the airport. He can't even accept that this is real yet, that she's coming here of her own accord, and he's sure as hell not going to ruin it.

He decides to drive out to the airport, knowing it will take him forever, but it's better than sitting in his house, bouncing off the walls. The traffic crawls but he still arrives with 40 minutes to spare and quickly downs 2 cups of black Starbucks coffee. He definitely doesn't need it and it makes him feel even more nervous, but his fingers are twitching and need something to grab and hold on to. And the warm cardboard cup will do for the time being.

The TV screens direct him to the gate and he waits there with a crowd of impatient, unruly people. He heads to the back, where he has enough personal space so he's not breathing in somebody's armpit and stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, palms sweating, mouth dry and parched.

When the first people walk through the sliding doors, his heartbeat picks up, and he's certain if anyone were to take a listen to his pulse, he'd be admitted to the Cardio ward. Several dozen more make their way out, pulling large suitcases behind them and he becomes more and more nervous. Did he dream it all up? Was this real, or is it a figment of his imagination? Maybe he's finally lost his mind, or what remained of it, and he was now imagining Meredith there, a tote bag over her shoulder and a small suitcase on wheels next to her.

Except that it was Meredith standing there, mere feet from him. Her hair was blonder and shorter than the last time he'd seen her. It spills just past her shoulders, and is very straight and shiny, reflecting the strong artificial lighting of the airport terminal. She wears jeans and a charcoal pea coat and looks so tiny among all the people surrounding them.

He steps back, away from the crowd and waved until she sees him and his heart froze and then his body did too.

She takes one step and then another and another and he feels the blood start coursing through his veins again, bubbling its way up from his toes and his fingertips, into the bloodstream, waking up his heart again. Boom. Boom, boom, boom.

"Mer," he whispers, and it's all the invitation she needs to leave her bags on the floor and lift her arms up, high, high over her head and around his neck. It's the easiest thing in the world to hug her back, to clutch at her lower back until he's lifting her so only the tips of her toes still scrape the ground. Her body is pressed against his and he shivers, intensely aware of every cell of skin that is in contact between them. He has little doubt that she can feel his body responding to her, but she doesn't care as she buries her face in his neck and nuzzles it, breathing him in.

"God, I missed you," he breathes into her hair, taking in the lavender and the silkiness of it, and he's sure that he might be a screw up and she might have a hundred different phobias but he's never letting her go again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks for being patient, everyone! I'm swamped at work at the moment, working insane hours. (Those considering law...think twice! Heh) Anyway, here's Part II. ****Mostly, I wanted to get across the awkwardness I think they would initially feel. You have to ease back into something resembling a relationship.**** This fic will eventually become M rated, so I guess I should provide fair warning to those who may be averse to such things. **_  
_

* * *

**Part II **

* * *

_Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed  
Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed_

After the too-long-to-be-appropriate-in-public hug, Derek gives Meredith an easy smile and picks up her things, easily navigating through the airport. It's a busy evening as the go up escalators and search for his car in the parking garage. He's a little bit relieved that he has 10 minutes to himself where he doesn't have to make conversation, can keep his eyes trained on the ground and regroup.

It's been ¾ of a year since he's seen her and although he expected it to be emotional, it was much more complicated than that. He was completely overwhelmed, his senses overcome with her smell, her feel, her touch and rhythm of her breath.

They near the car and he pops open the trunk with his remote. He loads her bags inside and slams it shut, only to find her standing right in front of him.

"Nice car," she says, admiring the black BMW.

He's lost in her eyes, and can't understand how it's possible that he remembers the exact shade and every fleck and yet when he looks at them now, he's surprised by everything. How large they are, how they manage to hold his gaze, how he can sense her smile in their corners. He knows these things and yet they are all new.

"Ah, it's yeah, new," he stutters, feeling very stupid.

She's trying to make conversation and he's standing there stupidly, staring at her like a nervous boy in junior high. What was the matter with him?

He moves to open the door for her, because as long as he's keeping himself occupied, he's not acting like a complete idiot. She slides into the leather seat and looks up at him from beneath her long lashes, waiting for him to close the door. He just kind of hangs over the top of it, trying to figure out if she's actually here and she must sense that he's lost in an alternate universe.

"You okay, Derek?"

"Oh!" He snaps out of it, "yeah, yeah, of course. Just…thinking," he adds vaguely, and walks around the car to the driver's side.

"I thought people didn't drive in Manhattan," she muses as he turns the engine on and begins to reverse carefully.

"I usually don't," he checks over his shoulder, left and right, "but it wouldn't have been any faster with a cab."

"Okay," she says easily, unbuttoning her jacket. He's relieved that he doesn't seem to be the only one who is sweating at the moment.

"And I live uptown, really, really uptown," he rambles, "would have been a small fortune, I thought. Especially if I came out to get you and then went back."

Derek pays the parking attendant and they pull out to the road, stopping at the red light. He turns around to smile at Meredith, as awkward as he was and finds her regarding him strangely.

"About that," she starts and he has that problem again where he is so taken by her presence that he's not really hearing her at all. The end result is that he catches the tail end of her sentence and is left staring at her. Stupidly. Again.

"I really don't mind," she assures him.

"Don't mind what?" He asks, as they go through the intersection and he merges right.

"Staying at a hotel," she says slowly, like she's explaining it to him for the 5th time. For all he knows, it is the 5th time.

"Oh, no, Meredith, no. Why would you do that? I have this enormous house and I've already picked up some stuff for you. Plus the hotels are outrageous. And you came to, I mean," he takes a leap, "you came to see me, right?"

"I came to see you," she says soothingly, "and I'd love to spend time with you, but you just seem, I don't know, uncomfortable? And I get that, I completely get it. So like I said, I won't take offense if you aren't sure this is the best idea."

"You know what I think? That this is better than the best idea. I've wanted you here, well, forever," he admits.

"So you're okay?"

He takes a deep breath, and figures they know each other so well that she's not going to judge him or think less of him. And either they've gotten to the point where they can talk about things, even embarrassing ones, or they haven't. She's sitting less than a foot away from him, so the answer seems pretty obvious.

"I'm just really, really nervous," he rushes the sentence past his lips.

"You think I'm not, Derek?" She asks with a broad smile. "You should have seen me on the flight. I couldn't sit still and I had the middle seat and must have climbed over the poor man in the aisle a half a dozen times. I just felt like I'd jump out of my skin."

"Oh thank God," he breathes a sigh of relief. She seems so calm and collected and he figured that he was the only one flipping out and losing his cool. In theory, they shouldn't be nervous, but he knows it's normal and in a way, it makes him feel better. If you're nervous, it means you've got something to lose.

"Feel how cold my hands are," she says, grabbing his right hand in her left. Her fingers are long and smooth and much cooler than her body temperature should be.

"Clammy," he says, squeezing her hand, "and here I am, sweating," he snorts.

"There's something really the matter with us," she laughs and that's what finally puts him at ease. He joins her and they grin at each other as the stress leaves their bodies.

It's late evening and the traffic has eased, making the return trip twice as fast. Meredith gazes up through the window and his sunroof at the twinkling lights and the buildings reaching up into the sky.

"They almost look like people reaching up," she says of the buildings, "kind of like in the Vatican."

"Hmm?"

"You know the colonnade? The semicircular wings that spread from the church, around St. Peter's square?"

"Sure, yeah," he thinks back to his trip to Rome for his 2nd wedding anniversary. He and Addison spent too much money, but had a nice week of great food and even better wine. She shopped a lot and he sat on park benches, waiting for her and observing the masses of tourists.

"Bernini built it to represent the arms of the mother church, reaching out to the world."

"Did you take one of the paid tours or something?" He chuckles.

"Better. Dated a tour guide," she smirks and he drops it. He really doesn't need to know about some Italian Fabio teaching Meredith about the finer points of art and architecture.

As they approach his brownstone he checks the time and realizes it's almost 9.

"Do you want to go out and eat? Or we can order in if you'd prefer? I know airplane food is disgusting; you must be starving."

"Um, maybe order in? I'd like to grab a shower first, if that's okay."

No, it isn't okay that you'll be slick, soapy and naked in my home, Derek thinks. In fact it's very much not okay. They should remedy this immediately.

"Sure, absolutely," he tells her as they pull into his parking spot. Derek insists he'll get her bags, which gives her a chance to study her surroundings.

"Wow, you must have a lot of stairs," she says looking up at the 4-storey brownstone.

"That's why I put in an elevator."

"Seriously?" Meredith stares at him like he's sprung a second head.

"No, not seriously," Derek laughs, and unlocks the door. "I never got that spoiled."

He holds the door open for her and she steps inside tentatively. It's a beautiful house, completely upgraded, impeccably decorated and very, very neat. In other words, nothing like the resident hotel she operates in her own house.

As Meredith takes her shoes off, she hears soft meowing and moves to the bottom of the stairs to come face to face with Miranda. The kitten is reserved, studying Meredith from the fifth step, but making no move to come forward. Her head is low to the ground as she surveys the scene before her.

"She's gotten so big!"

"I think I might be overfeeding her. But she looks so sad and then she meows at 4 in the morning and I just can't stand it."

Meredith giggles, sitting down on the stairs, waiting for Miranda to warm up to her.

"She has you wrapped around her little finger."

"I'm weak," Derek hangs his head, then moves to join her, and Miranda is immediately emboldened. She bounds down easily, pressing her face into the palm of his hand. Meredith strokes her soft fur, smiling.

"See, you like Meredith, don't you?" Derek coos, "yes, you do. And she likes you too. And she'll be staying with us for a while, so you be good and keep your claws to yourself."

Meredith watches him, loving this gentle, fatherly side of him.

"You're really good with her," she notes.

"Don't tell anyone, I might lose my cred," he jokes and picks Meredith's suitcase up. "Come on upstairs," he calls and she follows him.

The stairs are slick but don't creak beneath her feet. She keeps her eyes trained on Derek, although it doesn't help that it's his behind that's swaying in front of her face.

When they reach the landing, he puts the suitcase down, and waits for Meredith to join him.

"So, there are 2 spare bedrooms on this floor," he starts, gauging her reaction and when it is neither positive nor negative, he continues, "the nicer one has its own bathroom and so I thought you might prefer it."

"Anything is fine, Derek, honestly," she assures him.

"I'm in, uh, there," he points to the master bedroom down the hall, "and we didn't talk about anything and I didn't want to be presumptuous, but I don't want to offend you either, you know?"

"Derek!" She uses her authoritative voice and catches his attention. "Relax, I know exactly what you mean. I'll be fine down the hall, but thank you for letting me know where you'll be burrowing."

"Okay," he exhales and leads her down the hall to her room.

"I put some toiletries in the bathroom for you, and the towels and sheets are clean too."

"Nice. Thank you," she smiles, "Do you mind if I took a shower?"

"Not at all," he assures her, "I can order food in the meantime, if you know what you want?"

She looks up hopefully from the foot of the bed, "Pizza?"

"Of all things…" Derek laughs.

"But it's New York pizza!" She insists.

"You got it," he nods and turns to leave her to her shower. Her sad, pathetic, alone-shower.

"Oh, and Derek?" She calls out, causing him to turn around, "No nasty vegetables, please."

He can't resist her.

By the time Meredith comes downstairs, Derek has set the table in the kitchen and ordered their food. He lets his answering machine messages play as he roots around the cabinets, searching for napkins.

"Hi, Prof. Shepherd, it's Lee. Sorry for calling you at home, but you said we could if we really needed it. I'd like to stop by your office tomorrow around 11 to go over some old exam questions. I know you said you'd be around, but if your plans have changed, could you let me know, so I don't come in early? Thanks! I'm at (212) 896-5501."

"Professor Shepherd?" He hears Meredith's voice behind him and pivots on his heels, "How does that feel?"

"Old," he admits, "and smart."

"Are the girls checking you out?" She grins and he can tell she's asking out of amusement and not a misplaced sense of jealousy.

"Now that you mention it, there are two or three….or 20," he grins back and she punches him in the bicep as she passes by him.

"You're still full of yourself," she observes.

"You are free to come to class with me sometime and be number 21 if you'd like," he teases.

"I might just take you up on that offer," she murmurs, and walks over to the fridge, "You mind?" She asks, opening the door.

He tells her to help herself to anything she wants. She settles on a can of Diet Pepsi and he passes her a tall glass. It's distracting having the kitchen filled with the scent of her shampoo and body wash, and at the same time, his house feels more like a home with the invading feminine sounds and smells.

Meredith's hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. She's wearing yoga pants which hug her thighs closely and a thin heather grey t-shirt with a little pocket over the breast, which he's inexplicably fixated on.

He tells her about the course he's teaching and that he has to go in late tomorrow morning, but he's hers all afternoon and evening. The food arrives and they make a good team spreading it out on the table.

"Who buys a salad with pizza?" She wonders, shaking her head.

"I got you garlic breadsticks," he pacifies her, and she giddily reaches for one, chomping down on it.

"Hungry?" He smiles, observing her. She's not as thin as she was after her Mom died, and it suits her a lot better to have some flesh on her bones. She looks younger. Tired, but younger than he remembers her. Either that or he's so happy to see her that he's just seeing what he wants to see.

"Don't judge," she mumbles, pointing the remnant of the breadstick at him.

They eat in a companionable silence, and Meredith interrupts it a few times to ask about the house.

"It's a pre-war, 4-storey, 5 bedroom with a lot of other rooms I never use," Derek tells her, reaching for a second slice.

"It's beautiful. We lived in a house like this in Boston, when I was little."

"Yeah?"

"I was too scared of how big it was to really like it," she admits, "but then again, my Mom didn't care to make it a kid-friendly place."

"Did you have plastic covers over the sofas?"

"She was cold and detached, not lower class," Meredith shoots back.

"Touché."

Derek tells her how Addison's parents put down a significant down payment and that's how they ended up here. She doesn't ask him why he's come back here, to the scene of the crime, but he tries to explain it nonetheless.

"I think at the end of the day, I didn't really see it as a permanent arrangement," he concludes and she is left to wonder whether he means the house or New York in general.

"It's a nice house," she says appreciatively and while she looks around the kitchen, he uses the opportunity to study her profile. Her long bangs spill over her cheeks, blocking her eyes. When she turns around, she catches him staring, and he clears his throat.

"About earlier," he starts somewhat ineptly, "you know, with the bedrooms?"

"You mean our sleeping arrangements?" She asks softly.

"Yeah, that," his cheeks go just a little bit red, "It's not that I don't want to, or I didn't think that we might…" he looks at her pointedly, hoping he wouldn't have to spell it out.

"Derek? I've thought about it a lot." Meredith knows admission will put him at ease.

"Well, that's good, really excellent to know," he chuckles. "But I know it's been a really long time, well, it has for me," he tells her frankly, not because he thinks she's been making rounds in Seattle, but because he doesn't want her to think he's been doing it in New York.

"Just as long for me," she says immediately and a very large part of him wants to take her right then and there and end the drought. He hates that he has to fight to keep the surprise off his face, but the truth is, he wouldn't have blamed her if she tried to move on. He was the one who left; he couldn't very well expect her to stay a grieving widow forever.

"Remember when you wanted to take things slow? You know, last time? Well, I didn't really respect that. I didn't see the point in it at all, and I don't think I forced the issue, but I wasn't as helpful as I could have been."

"I think I was more than willing," she chuckles.

"Maybe," he shrugs, "but, Meredith, I can't screw this up again. That's all I mean about the rooms."

"Okay," she nods simply, and just like that, they've reached an understanding.

Miranda shows up halfway through dinner and Derek tosses tiny bits of crust on the floor. She munches on it happily and he feels guilty and weak once again but he can't help it. Meredith smirks at his lack of discipline, but when the kitten looks up sadly at her, she ends up doing the same as he did.

"Not a word!" She threatens when Derek looks like he's about to point out her hypocrisy.

"Okay, okay," he lifts his hands up in defeat and tells her he's going to run up and grab a shower.

"The bathroom shares a wall with your room and if I do it when you go to bed, I'll keep you up," he tells her apologetically.

She watches him leave, and eats another slice, realizing just how hungry she is. For a second, she feels a pang of panic and wants to call Cristina to ask her if this indeed was a good idea. Outwardly she's been fine – she's had to be. She made the decision to come here and it would be ridiculous for her to be a nervous mess. But on the inside she is afraid to death. That he might spend time with her and decide it's really not all it's cracked up to be. Or that he'll realize he's in a city of 19 million people, half of which are woman and compared to most of them, she's nothing special.

The worst part is she wants him desperately, and she feels happy when he's sitting next to her and having a meal with her. Being turned now would break her.

Instead of obsessing about it further, she starts to clean up. There is a recycling box in the pantry and she deposits the empty pizza box in it. Derek has a dishwasher, but there are so few dishes they've used that she'd rather do it by hand. She lets the water run until it's warm and tries not to imagine him upstairs under the spray. She wonders if he imagined her.

When Derek finishes showering, he steps out and towel dries his hair quickly. He's tired but the adrenaline keeps him going. He dumps the pajamas he wore last night and puts on a nicer pair of sweatpants and a Faculty of Medicine t-shirt he got on the first day of classes in September.

He hasn't touched her since she took his hand in hers in the car. And now he can think of nothing but touching her, so that she knows how he still feels and so that he gets it out of his system and isn't up half the night fantasizing about the feel of her skin.

Derek skips down the stairs, running his hand through his damp hair. The street is dark and quiet and he realizes it must be very late and the rest of the world has turned in for the night. He finds Meredith in the kitchen, rinsing out a mug, while he leans on the counter, watching her. She places the mug on the drainer and as she does, he comes up behind her, catching her now empty hand in his.

After all the discussion of where she'll sleep and how slowly they need to approach this new thing they've decided to start, he might be dissuaded from pursuing her. But she's standing there in her tight yoga pants, looking stunning and he spent the last 30 minutes in his shower thinking about anything but her. She's the love of his life and so he leans over, giving her a quick kiss on the lips.

It isn't meant to be sexual; it's more a "hello" – the sort he wishes he could have offered to her at the airport but he was too taken aback by her to react the way he wanted to. It isn't how he imagined their first kiss this time around (and he'd imagined it many times, in many different settings and positions). He thought it would be toe-curling, fireworks exploding above their heads, the earth flattening out, proving Copernicus wrong and likely leaving Derek dead or stupefied.

But she's the love of his life and he just wants to welcome her back. It's easy; it's like he never left.

Derek starts to move away, but Meredith holds onto his hand firmly and pulls him back. She takes hold of his other hand and pulls him close to her. They kiss again, but much deeper and longer this time. Her tongue sweeps past his lips first and he accepts it readily, moaning into her mouth. She swallows his sighs and angles her lips for better access. When they finally break the kiss, Derek stares down into her eyes for what seems like hours. Meredith wonders for an instant whether she should say something, make an admission, beg for forgiveness or dole it out to him. But he's too close to her, he's too warm and too willing to waste time on the intricacies of a conversation, so she wraps her arms around his neck and they kiss for a third time. It feels like the kiss will never break. Derek's stubble has just begun to come in and she welcomes the well-known scrape as it leaves a trail. Scratch, scratch, lost among her racing heartbeat and the pooling heat spreading through her. This is the Derek she remembers; a man without reservations, unfamiliar with nervousness or worry, bold in the way he feels her, caresses her, claims her as his. Only his.

As their lips press hard together and their hungry tongues entwine, she hugs him tighter and tighter, pressing herself into him. Derek presses right back and she can feel his excitement and arousal pressing into her. She breaks the kiss and looks up at him, a big grin on her face. Derek smiles back. They look to either side, glancing at the kitchen and the hallways and the doors, and Miranda sauntering into the dining room…are they really going to do this? And then Derek pushes forward, kissing Meredith firmly as his hands begin to roam up her chest, higher and higher, past her neck, grazing her smooth jaw line Her arms around his neck loosen, but remain firm.

They continue to kiss, more and more passionate, more and more intense. Derek's hands cup her face gently and her head seems so small, so fragile to him. And yet he's using it to anchor himself to the world. He lets those hands slip to the back of her head, threads her silken hair, letting it slip between his long, slim fingers. The pads of his fingers travel over her shoulder blades, down each subtle bump of her spine, and the curve of her lower back. Up and around her hipbones, until his hands are flat against her belly. Derek lets his hands slide Meredith's t-shirt up above her breasts. His hand slips back down and gently squeezes a breast through her bra. He holds it in the palm of his hand and rubs his thumb over the flimsy area of cloth that covers her nipple.

Meredith gasps sharply, not at all surprised by how quickly she is reacting to his touch. The cool air against her bare skin wakes her up and her sleepy eyes seek his out. Derek is breathless as he holds her gaze and she lets him take a few deep breaths. When he does so, he pulls down on the hem of her t-shirt, until it is once again covering her snugly.

"Ah, sorry, I'm bad?" He grins crookedly, a little bit embarrassed by the display.

She is made breathless by the way his blue eyes deepen in colour and smoothes the palms of her hands over his chest.

"That was…."

"Amazing?"

"Amazing," she agrees, tapping the pads of her fingers against his shirt, "But,"

"But we should stop. Definitely, stop."

Derek takes her hands in his, and moves them away from his body. He immediately feels emptier, but he'll be damned if he doesn't at least spend a full day with her before ending up doing the naked tango.

And he wants to tell her he loves her, and he needs to hear it from her, so very badly.

"Do you want me to let you sleep in tomorrow?" He whispers against her temple, brushing his lips over it.

"Mmmm, no, wake me before you go?"

He presses one last kiss to her warm skin and releases her from his grip.

"I'm so happy you're here, Mer."

"Me too. And about the making out thing too," she smirks, putting him at ease.

"More?"

"Later?" She asks hopefully.

"Later, definitely. Definitely."


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry for the delay, everyone! I have to wrap up things at my job by Friday and it has been rather insane. Then would not co-operate earlier in the day. I also wanted to let you know this fic will have 18 chapters, so we are in the home stretch. Thank you everyone for reading and commenting, and I hope that you enjoy the rest of the story. I've certainly enjoyed your commentary, and it's been really helpful as well in a number of ways!**_  
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_Whatever colors you have in your mind  
I'll show them to you and you'll see them shine_

The bedroom Meredith sleeps in faces east and she has to squint at the sunlight pouring through the window. It didn't occur to her to close the blinds last night, but she doesn't mind. She takes her time stretching on the large bed, enjoying the warmth she feels on her cheek.

The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 8:34 and she feels surprisingly well-rested given the jet lag. She has to hand it to Derek; the sheets she's lying on are very expensive, and the pillows filled with fine down. The comforter is also down, warm but so light she barely feels its weight over her back.

After a minute of contemplating the day ahead of her, Meredith swings her legs over the edge of the bed and the soles of her feet come into contact with the smooth, cold hardwood floor. She ventures over to the bathroom and brushes her teeth, then ties her hair up in a loose ponytail. She wonders if Derek has noticed it's shorter and lighter than it was when he left.

She opens the door of her bedroom and steps into the hall to find Derek's door wide open.

"Derek?" She calls out but gets no answer.

As she starts down the stairs, Miranda creeps up behind her and runs down ahead. Meredith calls her name, but the kitten is still generally suspicious of her.

"You're going to have to learn to put up with me," she coos at Miranda, calmly petting the top of her head before continuing on to the kitchen.

There is a bright blue post-it note stuck on the fridge door and she swiftly peels it off.

"_Mer,_

_Went to get us breakfast. Back really soon, stay put._

_D."_

She chuckles at the last bit. As if she was rally going to pack up her things and leave in the half hour it took him to procure food.

The kitchen is super clean. Everything is organized neatly in the cabinets and she knows that because she makes sure to open each one. Plates are stacked in neat piles according to size. She opens the fridge and finds it full of food, including several Tupperware containers with leftovers.

Looking at the kitchen she would have never guessed anyone cooked in it, and it hits her just how clean Derek is. When he lived in the trailer, the space was always too small to be completely neat, but even then, she thinks, he didn't leave anything lying around. Part of her wonders if he was horrified anytime he stayed at her house overnight.

The cabinets are a rich, dark cherry and all the appliances are stainless steel. The walls and floors are bright and she loves the warm orange-reddish backsplash of diagonally arranged tiles. Then again, Addison was always obviously a woman of style.

Off the kitchen is a dining room that looks formal and like it is seldom used. There is a lot of art on the wall, and beautiful wooden ceiling moldings. A set of French doors with beveled glass lead into the living room which is bright and modern with simple lines and camel coloured leather furniture.

A hallway leads her to the back of the house and the family room with a huge plasma screen TV on the wall and a comfortably worn black couch opposite it. There are rows of tall bookshelves containing mostly medical journals and a couple of replicas of very old ships. Meredith wants to touch them but they look very fragile and she passes. Instead, she turns the TV on to the morning news, not because she has any interest in watching, but because she finds the silence of the large house somewhat creepy.

She climbs all the way up to the top floor and works her way down, exploring the rooms. There is a very nice study/home office, with beautiful mahogany furniture and the most comfortable leather chair she's ever sat in. The other spare bedrooms are simple, but all have expensive bedding, and for that she is thankful to Addison.

Meredith stands at the door of Derek's room for a very long time. It's open so it's not like she's snooping, so much as…peeking in. She angles her neck to the right and observes the bed. It's simple, dark wood with a very nice, and very masculine duvet cover and pillow cases. Meredith throws caution to the wind and crosses the floor of the room. The bed linen is a rich sandstone colour with a chocolate border and pale beige designs dotting the border haphazardly.

The rest of the room is sparsely decorated, and she's drawn to the large window seat and its colourful cushions. She looks below to the street and sees a woman walking a group of 4 dogs, each heading in his own direction. The bathroom is to her left and she checks it out from the doorway, admiring the large, oval tub in the corner. Derek's things are arranged around the sink and she has enough class to not root through his medicine cabinet.

She is, however, drawn to the nightstand next to his side of the bed (because he always chose the same one). There is a small bottle of Advil next to a sleek alarm clock, and a bottle of water that's half empty. There are no books or magazines, but the TV remote control reveals what Derek likes to do before falling asleep.

Meredith doesn't have a TV in her bedroom and so she never considered that he might be the kind who likes to fall asleep to the late night news.

On a whim, she opens the top drawer of the nightstand and closes it shut as quickly as she opened it when she sees a box of condoms inside. She swallows hard, and her heart rate picks up. He told her he hadn't been with anyone…

She opens the drawer again, for a few seconds longer this time; long enough to conclude that it's a new box, never opened.

The third time she opens it, she zooms in on the box and reads "World's Only Glow Condom" before shutting it closed and laughing outloud. She can't be sure, but she's assuming he's bought these for her, as a throwback to the old days, and because she'd find it funny. And she loves that he went out and bought them and then insisted she stay down the hall, by herself.

"Mer?" She hears his voice calling out from the stairs and swears under her breath, realizing she's been caught.

"Uh, hi," she stammers, running out of his room.

"Hi," he smiles at her oddly, obviously wondering what she's doing in there.

"I, ah, breakfast?" She asks hopefully, thinking he may just forget about the awkwardness.

"You got my note, then?"

"I did," she smiles brightly, walking down the stairs to join him. Miranda meows behind her, in what can only be described as an accusatory tone. Meredith cringes at how guilty she must seem.

"Did you need something?" Derek asks her, looking upstairs to where he'd found her.

"Ugh!" She exclaims, hiding her face in her hands, "I'm an idiot!"

"Were you looking through my drawers?" He smirks at her in the way only he knows how and it annoys her that this is all so funny to him.

"No!" She insists. "Well, okay, one. I'm so sorry, Derek. I'm absolutely mortified, really. Can you imagine? What the hell is wrong with me?"

He walks into the kitchen and puts the paper bag he's holding down on the counter.

"What were you looking for?" He asks her quietly and without judgment.

"Honestly?" She wants to know and waits for a confirming nod.

"You," she says plainly, walking past him to wrap her hands around one of the large coffees he bought.

"I thought you got my message," Derek is confused and turns to her, offering up a small pastry bag without explanation.

Meredith looks inside, finding a freshly baked multigrain bagel and a cherry-cheese Danish. She's sure he didn't get one of those for himself and is delighted that he's delivered something sugary and cholesterol-inducing for her.

"Not like that," she tells him, hopping up on a breakfast stool, "just you. The Seattle you."

He remembers standing next to her on the hospital bridge, when she asked him if he was keeping the trailer. Worry and sadness tinged her voice then and he quickly assured her that he was still the same person he was before Addison waltzed back into his life. And now he finds himself wanting to do the same thing, except he has changed. He's not New York Derek or Seattle Derek anymore, but he believes the new incarnation is a much-needed improvement.

Derek walks around her and sits at a stool right opposite her, waiting for her to look up from her pastry.

"You know me, Mer," he says simply when she does so.

Meredith tears off a flaky piece of her Danish, chewing on it thoughtfully.

"You're really neat. Clean," she says after swallowing.

"Is that a bad thing?"

He takes a long sip of his coffee, even though it's still a touch too hot and burns a trail down the length of his tongue.

"I'm messy," she shrugs, "in more ways than one."

"So we'll hire a cleaning lady," he says, totally blasé about the implications. Like it's the most normal thing in the world to see your ex-whatever for the first time in 8 months and right away have him segue into a the topic of living together.

Derek must sense the shock on Meredith's face, because he chuckles, and then steals a piece of her sugary, unhealthy Danish.

"I'm not being presumptuous," he tells her, "but I think we're beyond coming up with artificial, bullshit problems, don't you think?"

"You are eating my artery clogger," is all she's able to come up with when he takes the last piece.

"It's called compromise," Derek smiles sweetly at her and she wants to leap across the counter and jump him right there. He's making it all seem so easy, so simple. Like it doesn't matter that they're different people and it doesn't matter that they had an unhealthy relationship for the better part of a year and it doesn't matter that he made her cry and she made him leave.

"Cleaning lady? Really?"

"Once a week," he promises.

Meredith continues staring at him and he flashes her a grin, like the matter is settled and they can move on.

"So I didn't know you were coming," he prods, curious to see if she'll elaborate.

"I'd been thinking about it for a while," she says, pulling the bagel out of the bag, "want me to toast yours too?"

"Nah, I'll just have some of yours, if you don't mind."

"And then we can eat yours?" She asks hopefully.

"Then we can eat mine too," he laughs, remembering how she could suck up food like a vacuum first thing in the morning.

Meredith cuts the bagel in half, and pops the two pieces into the toaster, while Derek gets the cream cheese and butter from the fridge.

"Yesterday in the morning, I was finishing up a shift and something just snapped inside me, you know? I wanted to talk to you, I really did, but I couldn't stomach the idea of having to call you."

Derek passes her two small plates and a butter knife in silence, letting her continue if she wants.

"Anyway, sorry for the lack of notice."

"You know, it was probably the best surprise in my entire life."

"Better than getting into med school?"

"I knew I was getting into med school," he shoots back with that patented, self-assured Derek smirk she's missed so much.

"It's not like me at all," she insists, and catches the bagel as it's ejected from the toaster.

"You can be spontaneous," he argues.

"I wasn't referring to drunken sexcapades," Meredith rolls her eyes and Derek's ears go pink.

"I love it that you're here," his voice is low and warm. She smiles at him happily and passes him a piece of bagel with a rich slathering of cream cheese on top.

"And apparently you've learned to cook," he comments, biting into it. The comment elicits a laugh from her, but she finds him very flattering and has to admit she is kind of enjoying it.

"Should I make dinner tonight?" She asks solemnly and he can't disguise the temporary flash of panic in his eyes.

"I was thinking that I'd like to take you out to dinner. Someplace nice."

"Nice cover."

"We never did that before," he points out and it's true. They'd go out for dinner when he was too tired to cook or they didn't feel like ordering in. But it was never a big production. Derek didn't court her, as is the standard; they just ended up together and fell into a relationship without the usual effort associated with dating. Now he wants nothing more than to gaze across a small, private table, at her. He wants to see her wearing something nice and classy, and revealing enough that he won't be able to concentrate on the menu. And to share a good bottle of wine with her and stroll out hand in hand.

"Okay, let's go out tonight," she agrees and like that, it's settled.

"I didn't book time off work," he informs her regretfully, "but I'll speak to my secretary today. I have to teach twice a week, though."

"Please don't worry about it," she assures him, "I can amuse myself while you're at the hospital."

"With your Mom's money?" He winks.

"I hear the shopping is good in New York," she quips.

"Do you have something to wear tonight?" He flirts with her openly.

"I think I have just the right thing," she matches him flirt for flirt.

"Am I going to like it?" Derek lets his eyes wander from Meredith's face to her chest, swallowing hard at the sight of her nipples against the thin t-shirt she's wearing.

"Hmmm, I think you might."

"Wanna go to dinner now?" He asks cheekily and watches her munching on the last bit of her bagel. She eats happily, drinks her coffee happily and lets herself get lost in the blue of his eyes.

"Wanna, wanna?" He keeps at it like a little boy.

"I thought you had to go supervise an exam," she recalls the phone message from last night.

"Changed my mind. They all pass!"

Meredith grins and gets up off her seat, collecting their plates, but before she turns around to take them to the sink, she leans over the counter and presses her lips to his. She doesn't deepen the kiss and he lets her lips linger, breathing her in.

"Go be Dr. Prof. Derek and we'll break bread in the evening."

"And a few drinks?" He asks hopefully.

She holds her thumb and index finger less than an inch apart. "Little bit," she promises.

"Meredith, is that you?" He jokes.

"I think I'd like to enjoy you sober," the response is casual but it's also huge. She wants to be aware of it all; the crackling sexual tension between them, the sometimes-awkward silences and the thing neither of them wants to bring up at this stage: what will happen when she has to go back.

"I…can't wait," Derek breathes, afraid of his voice catching if he continued on.

Meredith starts rinsing the plates and checks the time on the microwave clock.

"Am I going to make you late?"

"Yes, but it's so worth it."

"Derek," she giggles, absolutely taken with him this morning. He makes laughing about stupid things easy.

"Mer," he murmurs and the intensity of her name on his lips diverts her attention from the dish rag in her hands. She looks up at him and he's studying her so closely. His features are soft and gentle and take her back to the first time he told her he was in love with her. It's strange, she thinks, how I had a kitchen rag in my hands then too.

"I know," she assures him quickly. Her hands are cold and clammy under the stream of warm water. She doesn't want him to say it yet. She wants to have a day with him at least, she wants to not want to snoop around his house and wonder about new boxes of condoms. She wants to hear it so desperately, and to say it back equally as desperately, but not with her hands slick with suds and him rushing out to work.

Nevertheless, he approaches her, winding an arm around her waist, bringing her close. They stand together this way for a few minutes, and must make an odd sight, but they're learning how to touch each other again whenever they want.

"I'll be back by 4," he whispers so close to her ear that his lips graze the lobe. Meredith quickly puts away the plates, afraid that if Derek keeps this up, she'll drop and break one.

"Want me to feed Miranda?"

"She has an automated food dispenser, but she'd appreciate if you played with her for a few minutes."

"I can do that," she turns her head into the crook of his neck.

"And then we'll go out," his fingers splay across her right hip.

"My dress is lavender," she tells him, looking up. Derek groans and shifts next to her uncomfortably.

"Okay, you really don't want me to go to work today, do you?"

"Nope."

"Meredith," he groans again, fighting hard not to buck against her. She shows him mercy and steps away, clearly amused by the situation they've found themselves in.

"Go to work, Derek. I can be good."

He turns around and hurries upstairs, taking two steps at a time, before he changes his mind. He hardly got any sleep last night and wanted to go to her about 78 different times. The strangest part was that he just wanted to hold her, to lie behind her, and have her relaxed and slack in his arms, trusting him completely. It goes without saying that he was more than looking forward to stripping her naked and covering every inch of her body with his lips and hands. But he mainly wanted to sleep next to her, so that when he wakes up on the morning there is a warm body next to him as evidence that he isn't a complete fuck-up and that maybe, just maybe, he's been able to redeem himself enough so that she can't imagine ever leaving him again either.

Derek gathers his things as quickly as possible, shoving them into his laptop bag, and disconnects his cell phone from the charger plugged into the wall. He takes a look around the room, wondering about the Derek she was looking for and hoping like hell that she'd found him.

"Okay," he yells, as he descends down the stairs, "I'm off."

Meredith shuffles to the front door from the kitchen and leans against he wall, arms crossed at her chest.

"You're not going to change your mind and go home while I'm out, right?" The question is a joke, but if he's being honest, there is some small, tiny part of him that worries he's overwhelmed her and as soon as he leaves her line of sight she'll sit here, concentrating on just what a clusterfuck this could be. And then she'll convince herself that she's made a terrible mistake, and in true Meredith fashion, get out of there like a bat out of hell.

At last there was no Cristina Yang in New York for her to run to.

"My return ticket is for the 26th," Meredith informs him.

"You're staying almost two weeks?" Derek's excitement grows exponentially.

"Is that imposing too much?" She sounds unsure of herself and a little bit embarrassed. "I should have told you when I called."

"No," he is breathless, "I can wine and dine you every night."

Meredith chuckles at the hopeful look on his face.

"You really don't have to do that."

"I kind of do. Because I really want to. So you see, I have to."

"Go to work, Derek," she smiles, "and I'll see you later."

He cups her cheek in his right hand and then he's gone, out the door and down the stairs. She watches him from the front steps as he becomes smaller and eventually rounds the corner, disappearing from view.

He makes it so easy for her. She's starting to think this could really work. He could fall in love with her all over again and they could be happy. Together, with their cleaning lady and a fridge full of actual, Derek food.

As she went back upstairs to shower and get dressed properly for the day, she wondered if it was strange that she'd felt no compulsion to call her friends back home. At the top of the stairs, she makes a decision on a whim and walks right back into Derek's bedroom, lying on the bed, pressing her face into his pillow and letting her mind wander to his smell, the feel of his stubble last night when she kissed him and the sheer joy she saw when she told him she'd hang around New York for a while.

No, she decides. It's not strange that, in this moment, she misses nobody but him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Here we are again. I wanted this chapter over with because it's really set-up for what's coming. At the same time I felt Mark needed a last appearance in the fic and I wanted to do it right, since I did enjoy his character in the story. I do like the next couple of pieces, and you should get them more often from this point on. Thanks for the reviews! They've been the best part of this experience.**

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_Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed  
Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile  
Until the break of day, let me see you make him smile _

The phone rings just after 7 am, waking up Derek, who stumbles across his bedroom with a complete lack of physical grace. He roughly remembers leaving his cell phone on the chair opposite the door and he finds it there, beneath a pile of clothes.

It's his departmental secretary, informing him that he's needed at 9 for a consult, and when he explains to her that it's his day off, he's met with little sympathy. He sees no point in arguing with her, and tells her curtly that he'll be there, like he always is.

He's not sure whether he should go wake up Meredith, but he calculates that between getting ready and the commute, he'll end up gone most of the morning. The idea that she's interested in rekindling their relationship fills him with a fuzzy, gooey feeling on the inside. It would be rather perverse to relegate her to second best, after a job he doesn't even intend keeping.

Derek tosses his phone on the bed in annoyance, and it lands a little too close to Miranda for her comfort. She jumps up, aggravated at the flying object, and Derek picks her up, rubbing the top of her head.

"Sorry about that, boss," he tells her, "but we're really going to have to re-evaluate the sleeping arrangements soon. Don't you think?"

She meows softly and struggles to get out of his tight hold. He lets her down on the floor and watches her run out into the hall and down the stairs, presumably to check the status of her food bowl.

Against his better judgment, Derek walks down the hall, knocks, then enters Meredith's room, promising himself that tomorrow he'd let her sleep in as long as she wanted.

"Mer," he whispers, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

She's lying on her side, facing away from him and he takes the opportunity to rub her back, clothed by thin cotton. He gives her time to open her eyes and adjust to the light, and waits patiently for her to turn around

Her eyelids are heavy with sleep, but she smiles at him nonetheless.

"Hey," she greets him, and he takes her in, warm and languid and still not completely awake.

"Sorry to disturb you so early," Derek cringes, "but I need to head in to work for a little bit in about an hour. They seem to have no respect for my free time."

"Okay," she says and it sounds like a moan, which does evil, delicious things to Derek, and he curses the day he accepted this position.

"I'm really, really sorry," he emphasizes.

"About what? It's work," she shrugs, sitting up in bed.

"It's cutting into my time with you."

"Want me to come along?" She offers and he immediately moves to protest.

"What are you going to do there?" He wonders and then encourages her to try and go back to sleep.

"Wait for you," she replies cheekily, and pulls the covers back.

"You seriously want to go?" Derek is doubtful, because he sure as hell doesn't want to leave the cocoon of her bedroom.

"We'll go, you'll do the thing, and then we can hang out. Maybe go to another nice dinner?" She smiles brilliantly. "I really loved last night, by the way."

"Yeah?" He beams, because in a way it was their first date and as great of a time he had, the fact she agrees made it a resounding success.

"It was so great," she sighs. "I could really get used to it."

"Used to nice dinners? Or used to dinners out with me?" He pushes. He knows her answer but he'd like to hear it spoken outloud. He'd like his ego stroked.

"Used to nice dinners out with you," Meredith embraces the best of both worlds.

They'd gone out to Babbo, which Derek guessed she'd love. It turns out that he was right and while Meredith protested that the tasting menu was entirely too much food for a woman of her size, she happily devoured most of it.

Derek spent most of the meal watching her, unable to keep his smile at bay. She looked well rested (having admitted that she'd grabbed a nap while he went to work), well fed and genuinely sparkling. They'd splurged on the wine, ordering the reserve selection, but she'd sipped slowly, commenting along the way. Derek let his fork wander to her plate a couple of times and she alternately swatted him away playfully (the paparedelle was too good) and letting him have forkful after forkful (never having been a fan of lamb loin).

Meredith delivered on her promise to wear an unforgettable outfit. It was a gorgeous deep blue dress with delicately embroidered, tiny flowers in shades of lilac and lighter blue, shimmering almost silver under the artificial lights. The neckline flirted with Meredith's cleavage, hugged her curves, enticing Derek's eyes to slip lower, lower, lower.

She wore a simple silver necklace with an oblong pendant and he thought the outfit would have been made perfect with dangly diamond earrings. Simple, round cut, bright at dusk, peeking from beneath her hair.

That's when he decided to visit a jeweler tomorrow, with or without her consent. He'd never gifted her with anything permanent and it made him ashamed in a way. He was by no means frugal; they'd just never had the time for a proper relationship and he wanted to change that as soon as was practicable.

It made him giddy to think he could court her, like he did with Addison. Except now he had a ton of money and a ton of freedom. He wasn't trying to buy her commitment; he was just desperate to become her better half and to do what a normal man would, in a normal relationship.

After dinner, they walked around under the bright lights of the city. The streets were full of people on an exceptionally warm spring day, and Meredith told him this is what she loved most about New York – that you were never alone, no matter what time of day or night.

He didn't bother correcting her.

They returned home and she showered while he got rid of his tie and suit jacket, and checked his voice mail messages. She came down looking sleepy and he'd kissed her temple, letting him linger long enough to get a good whiff of her shampoo, her facial moisturizer and her minty fresh breath.

When he was done with his long moment of indulgence, he told her she should go up and sleep, and he'd be right here in the morning when she got up. For a second, she looked hesitant, like she was thinking of asking him to join her, but instead gave him a tight, close hug, and let his hands wander a little lower from her hips than would have been appropriate in a public place.

Derek considered it to be a wonderful night.

And now he hates that he has to make a detour to the hospital and drag her with him. Their time together was sacred to him, and thus far, the rest of the world hadn't been allowed to intrude.

Derek felt jealous and protective of this new thing they'd started and didn't look forward to sharing her at all.

He sighs so many times in the cab that she finally asks him if there's something wrong and then he feels childish for pouting.

"It might take me an hour to get this consult over and done with." It sounds like whining even to his own ears.

"That's okay," she soothes him, "we don't have much planned for today and I don't mind taking a look around your big, fancy office."

"It is fancy," he agrees.

"So it's no problem. I'll sit in there and check my e-mail and waste time online reading about the Beckhams. It's fine."

Derek scrunches up his face. "She looks like a toothpick with hair."

"Who does?"

"The wife. What's her name? Swank?"

"Posh," she corrects him, laughing.

"Have I just aged myself?"

"Definitely," Meredith concludes. "Hey, we could go to the Spice Girls reunion…"

Derek would give Meredith anything she wants, but he can't mask the look if discomfort on his face at the idea she just suggested.

"Might cost us a bit at this point, but you've always got scalpers willing to part with tickets at the right price," she elaborates.

Part of Derek wants to beg her for mercy, and offer her cars, jewelry and expensive wine in lieu of 2 hours of utter horror. And another part of him thinks that Mark must be able to secure such tickets. He's worked on half the breasts in this city, and all of them are very well connected. And then the third part of Derek is more horrified by the fact he's trying to do this for her than the fact he's horrified by the idea.

"I can't quite tell if you're shitting me," he squeaks when he detects a faint smile on her face.

"Derek," Meredith whispers, leaning so close that her lips are less than an inch away from his.

"Yeah?" He whispers right back, forgetting about the cabbie and the squeaking vinyl seats.

"Would I do that to you?" Her whisper is a puff of breath.

Derek leans in to bridge the tiny distance that separates them and kisses her, hoping to make her forget about the Spice Girls and torturing him, unless that torture involves her very naked and very supple body.

He can sense Meredith smiling as she reciprocates and he pulls back suddenly.

"You're pure evil!"

"Ah, but wasn't it fun while it lasted?" She grins, and he has to admit that the kiss was priceless, and her easiness around him even better.

The cab pulls over by the curb of the hospital, near the emergency entrance and Derek pays the driver before guiding Meredith into the building. It's a hospital like any other, and even if Meredith was blind, she'd recognize it by the sterile smell.

On the 5th floor, Derek unlocks his office door, and realizes he's already 10 minutes late. She pushes him out and insists she'll be fine in the meantime.

"Are there things I shouldn't be looking at on your computer?" She asks teasingly.

"Yeah, the 'Derek's sexy time' folder might be better fun when shared," he shoots back over his shoulder.

Meredith chuckles, briefly giving thought to some camera action with him. She'd never considered it before, but for some reason finds the idea incredibly sexy. Her cheeks burn and she feels hot in the room, so she ventures out into the hall, looking for a pop machine.

She finally finds one near a waiting area, and digs through her purse for spare change.

"Well, I'll be damned!" She hears a booming voice behind her and the second she turns around, she's enveloped into a huge, tight hug.

"Mark!"

"My favourite dirty mistress!" He exclaims right back, and kisses her on the cheek.

Meredith laughs, genuinely happy to see him. He pulls back and takes a long look at her, appraising the goods but without making her feel like she's being ogled.

"Nice," he comments, "I like the hair."

"Yeah?" She asks, tossing her head from side to side. "Derek hasn't said anything."

"I think he's been preoccupied with other things," Mark smirks.

"I see you haven't changed a bit."

"Seriously, where is he? Did he have to check in to be treated? Rehydrated, maybe? Can he even walk?"

"Mark!" She exclaims, punching him playfully in the chest.

"Hey, nobody is happier about you coming than me. I was starting to worry we'd have to have him drained. Pooling blood can't be good for-"

He's interrupted when she presses the palm of her hand against his lips and drags him down the hall where there is nobody around.

"Nobody is getting drained," she insists, and doesn't even want to imagine such a thing.

"Well, not anymore," he winks.

"How does Derek put up with you?"

Mark shrugs. "He loves me. You love me. I'm pretty damn lovable."

"I think that nurse down the hall thinks so too," Meredith notes when she sees the blonde throwing her dirty looks.

Mark looks up and sees Nurse Tammy immediately smile at him.

"Nah, not my type," he comments to Meredith.

"Oh? Too old?"

"Too married," he muses. "Learned that lesson real good!"

She can't help but shake her head at him, but keeps smiling. There is something about Mark that's always made her at ease. They used to share a common pain, but she doesn't even think that's it. It's more likely that Mark reminds her of herself in other ways – his lack of roots, lack of real family and few emotional attachments hit close to home.

"Join me for a coffee?" He proposes.

"I'm waiting for Derek," she apologizes.

"He'll call you when he's done, and you can leave him a message if you want. Come on, Meredith, I need a break, and you know he won't share you while you're here."

She considers this for a moment. Derek has told her about his newly repaired relationship with Mark. In fact, he sounded happy and relieved about it and she knows he's even appreciated his friend's company in New York. She can't imagine that he would mind.

"You're not going to come on to me, are you?"

"Meredith," he looks at her incredulously, "trying to seduce you is _so_ 2007."

After ordering their coffees, Mark finds them a couple of empty seats around a small table in the corner. He has shed his lab coat, and looks very professional in a mid-grey suit. He's not Meredith's type, but she can see how he would attract many an unsuspecting woman.

"So, when are you taking him home with you?"

The question is a huge surprise to Meredith. All the more so because Mark's voice takes on a strangely compassionate tone she's never heard before.

"I don't know, I haven't – we haven't talked about that. I don't even know if he wants to."

She feels flustered all of a sudden. While she did come to New York with the intent to get him back, but he hasn't said anything to her about his plans and she wavered in her confidence.

"Meredith, honestly," he interjects. "I've known Derek since I was six years old. I can read him like an open book. Derek's a simple guy – and I don't say that as an insult," he adds when she looks like she's about to protest. "I just mean that he wants the things you think he wants. A wife, a family, to be a good guy. And he is in love with you. He has been probably since the day he laid his eyes on you. So, again, when are you taking him home?"

It's a different Mark she's seeing. He usually hides behind a joke, or uses them to diffuse an emotionally charged situation. There is something unfamiliar and raw about him.

"You don't want him to go…" she notes quietly.

"No!" He responds defensively.

"Are you going to miss him? Is that it, Mark?"

He snorts and occupies himself by taking long gulps of his cappuccino.

"Come on, I'm nearly 40. I don't think I need my childhood best friend to hold my hand."

"He's like a brother to you," she says and suddenly, she feels for Mark in a way she never has before. Derek and Derek's family are his support structure. He's lost Addison and he was drifting for a long time. And now she was waltzing in after nearly a year of absence and trying to take away the longest relationship he's ever had.

And then it hits her that for Derek to come home to Seattle, he'd have to forfeit everything here. Not just Mark, but the rest of his family: his sisters and their kids, his ageing mother. His job, his office, his students, his house, his home. All of it in exchange for her, and it's all too much.

She can't ask him to. She isn't worth all those other things combined. Not by a long shot.

"He's going to be your husband," Mark shrugs, and then his trademark smile is back.

"Oh, Mark, I don't know…"

"Yes, you do. He will be. And you'll have the most perfect children. They'll be ridiculously beautiful and well-behaved little overachievers, and then my kids will beat them up in the schoolyard and steal their candy."

"Oh my God," Meredith laughs at his version of the future.

"I'll miss him," he concludes, "but you'll never tell him that and you'll help convince him that I'm good to be his best man again. Won't you?"

"You're good, Mark."

It's all she says and he is satisfied by it.

"Why not come back to Seattle?" She wonders.

"Can I let you in on a secret?"

Meredith leans across the table, sensing that he's about to confide in her.

"I'm thinking of doing a stint in Africa. Zambia," Mark clarifies.

"You're kidding!"

"Lame?" He hangs his head. "I know, I know. But there's a good program for plastic surgeons and I thought, what the hell? Nothing really keeping me in New York."

"I think it's great," Meredith assures him. "I'm, dare I say? Proud of you."

"Plus think about it, that's where chicks like Angelina Jolie traipse. Those NGO workers are some passionate women."

"For their cause!" She laughs, welcoming Mark back to the conversation.

"You can't mute that kind of passion. They spend the day rescuing orphans and the nights rescuing Mark. You're in the freaking middle of nowhere. Just us and a tent and a sky full of stars. Can't ask for a better set up."

"Ever think of yourself as shameless?"

"Is that bad?" He deadpans.

"It's…you," Meredith flashes a grin his way.

"And that way, you don't have to feel guilty about taking Derek back with you. He wants to go, and when he introduces you to his mother, you'll see that she'll tell you the same thing."

"I'm not exactly the girl you bring home to meet the parents," she chuckles.

"You'll charm the pants off her," he promises. "If you'd only do it to me…"

"I thought that was _so_ 2007," Meredith narrows her eyes.

"Believe me, if I was trying to seduce you, you'd know it," Mark wiggles his eyebrows and she rolls her eyes in response.

She has to admit that there is a calm that's set over her. Getting Mark's blessing was like on family member down. The guilt that's settled in is still there, but has dulled somewhat. If somebody asked her whether she was willing to move to New York for Derek, she would do it. Even if Cristina was a million miles away, even if she had to give her house up, even if she'd lose Bailey and Alex and Izzie and George, and even the Chief. Lexie and Molly would not keep her there either. So if she is willing to leave it all behind for a last chance with him, maybe he feels the same about her. Maybe she gets her fairy tale and without residual resentment on his part.

Maybe, maybe.

"Maybe the dirty mistresses end up on top after all," he interrupts her thought.

"That? Is creepy," Meredith shudders, feeling like he can read her mind.

The door of the coffee shop opens, and she sees Derek walking in, and waves him over.

"Thanks for the message," he says, sliding into a chair next to her.

"I've been keeping the New York perverts away from her," Mark tells him proudly.

"Oh yeah?" Derek smiles at both of them.

"Meredith is quite a catch. Don't you love her shorter hair?"

"You're beautiful," Derek tells her, "and I like the length and the blondeness. It suits you."

Meredith blushes, and keeps her eyes on her now cold coffee cup. She really thought he hadn't noticed at all. It's not that she is vain enough to be bothered by it, but it was nice to know.

"You'd think she was beautiful bald," Mark points out.

"Well, she has a very nicely shaped head!"

"Okay, Derek, I think it's time we go out and get some fresh air," she laughs. "I'm afraid you might be losing it."

"You're a temptress, Mer," he tells her when they get up from their seats.

"Will we do dinner before you leave?" Mark interjects and Derek starts to tell him that they're not sure about their schedule. It's not that he minds, but a whole evening with Mark means an evening less of blatantly staring at Meredith's best features.

"Let's do dinner," Meredith speaks up to a surprised look from Derek. She gives him an almost imperceptible nod and something in her expression changes his mind.

"I'll call you, Mark," he promises before following Meredith out of the coffee shop.

As soon as they're on the street, she grabs hold of his hand, giving it a tight squeeze and not letting go.

"You're a good guy, Derek," she tells him without elaborating. She makes it so easy for him to believe her.


	16. Chapter 16

**This part is a bit longish. It's definitely the transition into the last bit. I think things are finally starting to fall into place for these two, which is nice since they deserve it. The next chapter will be rated M, so fair warning to those who would rather not venture there. Thanks for all the reviews - you guys have been fantastic all along and I really appreciate it.**_  
_

* * *

_Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile  
Why wait any longer for the world to begin  
You can have your cake and eat it too _

Derek sits on the large table at the front of the classroom, half an hour early for his lecture. He feels jittery, and unsettled at not having seen Meredith this morning before he left. But their dinner and a drink with Mark the night before turned into dinner and 6 drinks (at which point he'd lost count) and she was dead to the world when he checked in on her at 8 am.

Yesterday, she'd agreed to join him and his Mom for dinner, and he'd spent a long time searching her face for signs of doubt. She seemed calm enough when she said yes, and when he'd asked her about it, she told him it would be very rude to come all this way and then concoct a lame excuse.

But that hadn't stopped her from asking whether any of his sisters would be joining them, and he'd quickly assured that Nancy was at a conference in Chicago.

It wouldn't be a big deal, he told her. His Mom would cook dinner, they'd join her for a couple of hours and it would all be very casual. No need to get dressed up, and she shouldn't expect to be grilled in an intrusive way.

His long trip on the subway had him going over and over the possibilities and he couldn't completely discount Meredith's usual modus operandi. She could wake up in the morning, make herself a cup of coffee and sit there and come up with 101 different reasons for why it really would be better if she didn't have to meet his family. And then she'd pony up the $200 charge to get her ticket changed and boot it out of there before his lecture concluded.

Part of him was embarrassed to assign such motives to a woman who was largely changed. But there it was, chipping away at his confidence, eating him a live little by little.

As the first students arrive for class, he feels relieved to have some company, even if they just head for the back of the lecture hall and drop their heads on the desk, eager to catch a few more minutes of sleep. Remembering his own med school days, he really has no room to pass judgment.

Derek hops off the table, and unpacks his laptop, intent on distracting himself as best as he can. He checks his e-mail, reads the headlines on the New York Times page, and looks through the specials at the online grocery store he uses on occasion.

By the time he's done, the class has almost filled up and he organizes his lecture notes, and shuts down the computer.

He doesn't register individual students as they pass by him, but when a hand places a large cup of Starbucks coffee on the desk in front of him, he can't help but look up in confusion.

He's met with Meredith's green eyes, crinkled at the corners, reflecting her smile. She winks at him and then disappears up into the fifth row, where she takes an aisle seat, blending right in with the students.

"What?" He mouths at her, still in shock.

She just shrugs and grins, then crosses her arms over her chest and sinks lower in her seat, preparing for the lecture to start. It takes Derek a moment to compose himself and even so he has to fight through the urge to stutter.

"So, on a scale of 1 to 10, how boring was this week's reading?" He jokes, aware of how much the students hate this module of the course.

"Eight, but I only read the first four pages," somebody yells out, eliciting laughs.

"And how many were there?" Derek enquires.

"Thirty-nine," somebody else pipes up.

"So you've got only 90 to go," Derek tells the first student, who smiles at him, not embarrassed in the slightest.

"Anyway," Derek continues, "I hope you've all got a decent night's sleep and will be on your best behaviour today, because we have one of Seattle's finest neurosurgeons with us."

He motions to Meredith who gives an embarrassed little wave, sinks deeper in her seat and sends him a message with her eyes.

i You. Dead. Later/i they say.

"This is Dr. Meredith Grey, who has come to observe me so she can report back to everyone in Seattle that I can't control my class and that you're all being ripped off when it comes to my salary."

"Don't listen to him," Meredith laughs, "I'm only a second-year resident."

"In Neuro," Derek adds, "which we all know is the most difficult, most prestigious and most coveted specialization."

"Are you related to Ellis Grey?" A shy girl in the front asks and Derek's heartbeat picks up, as he knows it's still a sore subject.

"She was my mother," Meredith answers and her features don't betray her emotions at all.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know she had passed," the girl says.

Meredith smiles at her politely, and Derek takes the opportunity to jump in and diffuse the situation.

"Okay, now that we've got introductions out of the way, why don't we get started?"

Meredith is of two minds about Derek's lecturing style.

On the one hand, she's incredibly impressed by him. He knows his stuff without referring to his carefully prepared notes, and something about him strikes her as very old school. He banters back and forth with the students and expects them to contribute significantly to the discussion. In the era of Powerpoint, she's more used to being spoken at than spoken to.

He also seems to know a lot of the students' names, which is a real accomplishment in a class of this size. When he corrects one of their answers, he does it in a way that's encouraging, and she gets the sense the class really loves him.

On the other hand, he's wearing a pair of very dark blue jeans, and a thin, black cashmere v-neck sweater over a crisp, white dress shirt. The Sweater O'Lust, as she'd branded it back when they were dating. And she has no idea how anyone in this class is learning a thing with him looking like sex on a stick. She certainly hasn't heard a single word, and probably wouldn't even be able to identify the broad topic if her life depended on it. His easy style, combined with the authoritative tone and the very chic, yet academic look had her insides twisted and throbbing in the most inappropriate way.

After the lecture ends, she stays in her seat while a few students approach him with questions. Meredith can tell by his body language that he's eager to get rid of them, and she knows it has everything to do with her and nothing to do with his dedication to his job.

When the class clears out, she approaches him and his smile widens.

"So, what's the verdict?"

"You're the best I've ever seen," she teases.

"And had?" He asks hopefully.

"Prof. Shepherd, now you're sexually harassing me."

"You've coerced me into it. I've got the defence of necessity on my side."

"Tell it to Judge Judy," Meredith laughs, "but seriously? You're great. Really, really good. And you're so damn i nice /i to them too."

Derek shrugs, a little bit embarrassed by her strong positive reaction.

"I'm a nice guy."

"No, that's not it," she is thoughtful, "I mean, you are a nice guy, but you're warm towards them. And not in that really condescending, paternalistic way that some profs have about them."

"So you liked me?"

"So, I liked you," she is happy to confirm.

Derek frowns slightly, "Do I sense a but?"

Meredith takes another step towards him, and places her palms flat on his chest, and lowers her voice when she addresses him.

"But you have really got to get a new teaching wardrobe."

"What's wrong with this?" He looks down at his outfit.

"Absolutely nothing," she murmurs, "and that's the problem."

"Okay," he laughs, not totally understanding her, but he can't help and respond favourably to the ridiculously hot, predatory look in her eyes.

"I'll go shopping with you," she promises.

"For what?"

"A burqa. Do they come in men's?"

The rest of the afternoon is spent on a quick lunch and walking around the streets of Manhattan. Meredith ducks into a couple of stores and Derek dutifully comments on pairs of shoes she's considering. She picks up a postcard and mails it out to Izzie, who would kill her should she come back without having remembered her friend.

As the afternoon progresses, Meredith gets quieter and more introspective, and Derek keeps her hand tightly in his, hoping she'll find it soothing.

"You don't have to, you know," he tells her when 20 long minutes of silence begin to drive her crazy.

"No, no, I was just wondering if we should bring something. Flowers? A bottle of wine?" She frets.

"It's my Mom. It's an informal dinner, and she definitely doesn't expect anything, Mer."

"But she's going out of her way to cook for us," Meredith bites her lips and checks out their surroundings for a florist.

"She's an old lady in retirement. She used to have 5 kids and misses having people to spoil and overfeed. Trust me, this is a treat for her."

"I've never met her before. I mean, the first time, you bring something, right? I can't show up with nothing."

She starts to pace away from Derek, up the street when a little shop catches her eye. Derek hurries behind her, grabbing hold of her wrist.

"If it were her birthday, or if she were throwing a big party, I would say it's fine. But please don't feel like you need to try especially hard with her. She'll love you."

Meredith scoffs, and it's as if he can see her confidence deflating with every passing moment.

"Derek, it's i me /i . The woman who broke up your marriage, ran you out of town, and showed up on your doorstep unannounced. I can't not show up hiding behind the finest bouquet money can buy."

"Okay, are you being serious?" He asks, holding both her hands in his, "Because I don't remember you being in my room with Addison in Mark, or in my life in the 11 years before that. And while you have quite the pair of ineffectual fists, they're not scary enough to have me running for cover. Plus, my Mom will tell you that you bring ostentatious bouquets to funerals, when everyone's competing in their expression of grief."

Meredith stares back at him, trying to process his words.

"In other words, just show up. Be yourself, and hug her back. Because she will hug you and if you don't hug back, she'll make you do it again."

"Okay," she starts to calm down, "I'm not so bad at the hugging thing anymore. Molly is a big hugger."

Derek sweeps her up in his arms and gives her a second to respond. When she does, it's tight and trusting, and not at all hesitant.

"Good job, Mer," he assures her.

"Well, I won't hug her like i that /i ," she giggles.

"She might not enjoy every contour of your breasts," Derek smirks, and lets his eyes feast on her chest.

"Well I should hope not!"

"Come on," he takes her left hand in his again, "if it's really horrible, I'll call Mark and he'll meet us and we can have a dozen drinks and by tomorrow nobody will remember the calamity."

"Your treat?"

"You got it," Derek promises, smiling easily.

He moves towards the curb to hail a cab, and before one stops, he kisses Meredith softly, quickly. No more than a peck, really, but it's reassuring, and distracting, and soon she finds herself thinking about how much she'd like to kiss him better than this, instead of obsessing about everything that could go wrong tonight.

Derek plays with her fingers and rests his hand on her thigh during the cab ride. The cabbie is especially chatty and tells them they're his last customers for the night. He's off to visit his family in Bangladesh tomorrow, and excited to take his kids there for the first time. The traffic is better than expected and they find themselves in front of Anne's brownstone in Park Slope sooner than they thought.

"Did you grow up here?"

"We moved here when I was four, so I guess you could say that?"

"So your old room…."

"Yes, you can see my old room," Derek laughs, "not that it's that exciting."

Meredith can't help but be curious about Derek as a child. It's something he's rarely talked about, and even when he did, it was only in passing. Seeing bits and pieces of his past would really help her get a better idea of who he was as a person.

Her thoughts are interrupted when the front door opens, and they see Anne taking out a couple of large garbage bags.

"Mom!" Derek yells and catches her attention. He then leads Meredith up the short flight of stairs, guiding her by keeping a hand on her back.

"Derek, hi!" She smiles warmly and her smile is all Derek. For some reason Meredith had imagined that he'd be the spitting image of his father, but instead found herself looking and his mother and finding everything about Derek in her features. They had the same deep blue eyes, the same smile and jaw line, and although Anne was grey-haired, Meredith knew she'd have shared his dark coloured locks as well.

"This must be Meredith," Anne says when they've scaled the last step. "I'm Anne, and it's really nice to meet you. I know coming out here is a bit out of the way."

Meredith sticks out her hand to shake Anne's, but the older woman ignores the gesture and instead pulls her into a tight hug. Not as tight as the one she'd shared with Derek earlier, but tighter than anything she'd have experienced with Ellis. No, this was a Susan Grey sort of hug.

"Thank you for having me," Meredith says when they pull apart.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. Gives me a chance to make an apple crumble and not feel like a pig about it."

Meredith smiles at Anne, thinking about how grandmotherly she is. With 14 nieces and nephews, this is no surprise, and yet she finds herself a little taken aback.

"Mom, let me help you with the garbage," Derek offers and Anne tells him that the bin is under the stairs, asking for him to push it out to the curb as well.

"Men. They do have their uses," she muses to Meredith as she ushers her into the house.

A faint panic spreads through Meredith's gut when she realizes they're alone and her safety net is outside, getting intimately acquainted with last week' waste products.

"Derek tells me you're in town only for another week. I'm really happy you were able to pencil me in," Anne tells Meredith as she takes her jacket.

At first, Meredith thinks it has to be a subtle jab. At how short Meredith has come for – which of course must mean she's just here to toy with Derek's heart. And at how insignificant she must find Anne to have trouble "penciling" her into her very busy schedule of sightseeing and ogling her son in his sexy time sweaters.

But Anne's hand finds its way to Meredith's back and she pushes her down the steps, offering her a tour of the house. She doesn't seem hostile and Meredith concludes all of the suspicion is in her own head. Paranoia will be the end of her.

"This is the first floor," Anne says "I've kept the playroom as it is, because as soon as I shipped my last off to college, Nancy already had a couple of kids who would come over and so instead of having them play with grandma's China, I decided that destroying this room would continue to be a Shepherd tradition."

There are toys arranged in plastic bins along one wall, and a small table and chairs in the corner, full of papers and crayon. Resting against the opposing wall is a desk with a computer on it, and next to that, a TV with a couple of games consoles. There is also a travel playpen in the centre of the room, and a pile of stuffed animals resting next to it.

"Back there," Anne points down the hall, "is Nancy's old room and next to her is Kathleen's very small ex-room without an appropriately sized closet, I was told. It actually started out as Derek's room, but the poor thing was petrified of living down in the dungeon, even though his father explained many times that this was in fact, the main floor."

"Mom," Derek's voice whines from the front door, "what have you been telling her?"

"What were you afraid of?" Meredith asks.

"The dark," he admits sheepishly. "And the stupid mailman who would come and throw the newspaper, hitting the front door every morning at 5 am, scaring the crap out of me!"

"He ended up moving upstairs, next to David and I. None of the girls wanted to be living on the same floor as their parents."

"They got away with a lot," Derek rolls his eyes.

"Don't tattle on your sisters, Derek," Anne admonishes, and leads the two of them upstairs.

The house has obviously been renovated, because the kitchen is gorgeous, deep red cherry wood with stainless steel appliances and a dark slate grey granite countertop. The living room and dining room are far less formal than Meredith would expect from an old lady, but she's also relieved that Derek was right about the evening being very informal.

"Lots of stairs, I know," Anne comments apologetically.

"Oh, it's no problem. I lived in a similar house in Boston when I was a teenager."

"Did you also avoid living on the same floor as your parents?" Anne asks jokingly.

"Just my Mom. But I did better than that and put two floors between us," Meredith smiles.

"Something about mothers and daughters, isn't there?" Anne asks politely and while there is nothing hurtful at all in her tone, Meredith is instantly reminded of how she and Ellis never really got past the point of incongruity.

When Meredith doesn't respond, Anne realizes she's hit upon a sore subject.

"I'm sorry dear, I know Derek said you lost your mother recently."

"Last year," Meredith tells her quietly, "and it's alright. She was very sick for a really long time."

"I know, but that only helps us in here," she points to her head and Meredith gets it then. This is a woman who lost her husband to a lengthy illness. She's heard and used every justification, and Meredith feels a new kinship with her.

"Mom, I promised Meredith that I'd show her my old room. Do you mind?"

"Not at all, dear. Go on up and I'll get the salad started."

Derek smiles at her gratefully, eager to extract Meredith out of the situation and check that she's doing alright. They trudge up another flight of stairs and when they reach the landing, he turns to her, concern written all over his face.

"I'm sorry she brought up your Mom. I don't know why it's happened to you twice in one day."

Meredith exhales a long breath. "No, it's fine. Your Mom is really nice. And I don't think she hates me. Which…yay?"

Derek chuckles at her choice of words. "Yay," he confirms, and then opens the door immediately to his right.

The room is painted a rich teal colour and the furniture is a pale beige wood. The floor is the same warm blonde hardwood as throughout the rest of the house, and there are two narrow, but long windows on either side of his old desk. Above the desk are two framed photos of old airplanes and three intricate models hang on string from the ceiling above the desk.

There are lots of shelves on the walls, full of old books, and photos of Derek. Fishing with a man she assumes is his father. In a first communion suit, standing next to his sisters. Classroom composites and framed diplomas.

His bed is in the centre of the room, with a very simple and classic checkered ivory and beige bedspread. There is a pine chest at the foot of the bed and Derek opens it to reveal stacks upon stacks of Archie comic books.

"Betty or Veronica?" Meredith asks him as she picks up a particularly worn copy.

"Veronica," he says after a beat.

"What's wrong with Betty? Too blonde?"

"Too apple pie," he says instead.

"Aren't you the rebel?" She teases.

"Well back then, I was at least trying to be," the tips of his ears grow red when he thinks back to some of his more embarrassing high school days.

Meredith returns the comic to the pile and shuts the chest. She walks over to the corkboard on the wall, which had at least two dozen athletic ribbons pinned to it. Red for first place, blue for second, white for third and yellow for honourable mentions.

"I swam," Derek tells her, and she appraises his body in light of this new information.

It makes sense. Derek was long and lean, but not lean enough to be a runner, and not built enough to have done anything that required major physical strength. She imagines him, young and 18 and in a pair of tight speedos, emerging out of the water, wet and glistening.

She coughs and hopes he can't read her mind. However, Anne's voice comes booming from downstairs, and Meredith is convinced that she's been discovered having inappropriate thoughts about her Anne's only son.

Derek yells that they'll be right down and Meredith follows him out of the room.

"Why did you quit swimming?" She asks him as they make their way to the kitchen.

"The chlorine did awful things to my hair," he grins.

"Are you kidding?"

"Ah, only a little?" He is bashful.

They help Anne carry the food to the dining room, and Meredith has to admit it smells divine. Like Izzie's home cooking but without the accompanying drama. The cream of squash soup is thick and sweet and Meredith compliments Anne immediately.

"I'm glad you like it. It can be kind of hit and miss. I definitely don't make it when the kids are around."

"Hey, you used to force me to eat everything when I was little," Derek protests.

"Yes, but that's a parent's job. I'm a grandmother and I get to spoil them and not feel bad about it."

"Do you find it tiring, taking care of so many?" Meredith asks tentatively. She'd like to initiate conversation, but she's just so bad at the small talk that she's at a loss for a good topic.

"Thankfully, I get to send the herd home at the end of the night. But I think they have also kept me younger."

"You're a spring chicken, Mom," Derek assures her as he collects their empty soup bowls and takes them to the kitchen.

"You two are spring chickens," Anne tells Meredith, "although I notice Derek is a bit more sensitive about his age these days."

Meredith smiles at her, perfectly aware that she's the youngest person at the dinner table.

"I'm 32," she throws her age out there, unprompted.

"Okay," Anne tells her, wondering where the outburst came from.

"Well it's just that, I am younger than Derek, you know? By seven years and I don't know if you think that's, or if you care or anything, but you might want to know either way. So yeah, 32."

It's incredible how she's managed to transition into a rambling mess in the span of 23 seconds, she thinks to herself. And yet she can't stop it for the world.

"Meredith," Anne speaks softly when she hears Derek returning, "my husband was 11 years older than me and after our first week together, I never again thought about it. Men need more time to mature, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"Are you calling me immature?" Derek pipes in, catching only the last bit of the exchange.

"No, you are like a finely aged wine," Anne's eyes are twinkling.

Derek rolls his eyes and places the food on the table.

"Garden salad and chicken pot pie. It's a legend," he promises Meredith and she helps herself to a fairly large portion.

"Please help yourself," Anne encourages her.

"Derek said I should pace myself for the dessert," Meredith blushes.

"Well, Derek can be a silly goose."

"Nice, Mom," he laughs from across the table.

"Please have as much as you can. I will pack the rest for the two of you anyway."

"Thank you," Meredith takes a bite and relishes the light flakiness of the pie crust contrasted with the warm filling. The chunks of chicken are tender and the carrots are sweet, retaining just a bit of their original crisp.

"How are you enjoying your residency so far? I know how tough it can be," Anne comments between bites.

"It's been really busy, but I think picking a specialty has made it easier on me."

"Not to mention, she's brilliant," Derek adds proudly.

"Okay, Mr. $2 million hands," Meredith chuckles.

"Oh, don't sell yourself short, Meredith," Anne interjects, "I can't tell you how many times Derek told me that you were incredibly impressive, even as an intern."

"Well, thank you," Meredith laughs nervously.

"It's true," Derek confirms, "I knew it back with Katie Bryce."

"Okay, I had no idea what I was doing back then," Meredith chuckles and turns to Anne, "he's a flatterer."

"I imagine he was quite taken with you," Anne smiles, "but that doesn't mean he's making it up."

There is an awkward moment when Anne indirectly brings up their relationship and they all look at each other, unsure how to proceed.

"Well, it was bound to come up sooner or later," Anne winks at them.

"Mom, I told you when you called that-" Derek starts, but is cut off.

"Oh, nonsense, Derek, really. As if I would be anything but happy for you if you were honest with me," she clucks and turns to Meredith, "in case he hasn't told you, my son is over the moon that you are here. And why shouldn't he be? You obviously feel the same way about him and you are a lovely girl. You could have said to me that the pie was too salty, but you didn't."

"No, it's good!" Meredith protests, honestly not having noticed a problem.

"It could be better," Anne muses, "maybe at Christmas? I'm assuming you will joining us?"

"Mom!" Derek interrupts forcefully.

"I am simply inviting her formally now so I don't have to do it informally later," she shrugs.

"I don't know if Derek…" Meredith starts and then gets lost in mid-sentence.

Anne turns to her son, "Derek, would you like Meredith to join you for the holidays?"

"Mom," he controls his voice, "this is something for Meredith and I to discuss. Later," he emphasizes.

"Well, then it's settled," Anne smiles, "Meredith, I will see you in December, and I promise you my bird is better than my pie. We do a Secret Santa between the adults so that we don't get stuck buying dozens of gifts, and I'm going to throw your name in, if you don't mind, of course."

"I…" Meredith has no idea how to react or what to think. She has the faint feeling that she's just been welcomed to the family like it's some kind of arranged marriage situation. Derek seems just as surprised, but there is something else in his eyes. The thing that dulls the blue almost imperceptibly…the fear that she'll say she has no intention of being here at Christmas. With his family. In New York. With him.

Her eyes dart between Derek's anxious ones and Anne's peaceful ones and she thinks she is sharing a meal with remarkable people. A man who has loved her from the day she was an incompetent intern and his mother, who welcomes her as if there was nothing bad, nothing complicated in her son's past with Meredith. And then she begins to understand that Derek has never spoken negatively of her in front of his family, that he's never blamed her for what happened between them. She would have been an easy target, it would have made sense and he could have saved face by pinning it all on her. Instead, his mother thinks she's a brilliant surgeon and a nice girl who is in love with her only son. And in this moment, Meredith is certain of only one of those three descriptions, but when it comes down to it – when it really comes down to it – she supposes it's the only one that actually matters.

"I would love to join you," she says breathlessly, and everything about Derek, and the way he is looking at her, and the things she wants to say to him, and the things she wants him to know changes in that instant.


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry for the wait! I'm getting ready to go away on vacation so I've had other things to do. I hope to get the last chapter up to you on Sunday so you don't have to wait 2 weeks for it. Thanks for the reviews, as always!! **

* * *

_Why wait any longer for the one you love  
When he's standing in front of you_

The cab ride back from Anne's house is quiet and contemplative. The rest of the dinner went well, and Anne forced a second serving of dessert down Meredith's throat without much protest. They talked a little bit about their jobs and Anne's upcoming trip to Fort Lauderdale to visit an old college friend who retired to Florida years ago. Derek teased his Mom about early bird specials down south and the countless rounds of bowling she'd have to submit to while there.

Neither of them brought up Christmas or the implications, and Meredith felt stupidly shy every time she met Derek's eyes. She managed to convince herself that he could read her mind, which had managed to turn itself into sugary sweet mush anytime she thought about him. Which was all the time. And while she wanted him to know just what he meant to her, it was a fight to get past the instinct to protect herself in case it all went to shit.

Now they are back in his house, which is dark and quiet save for Miranda greeting them from the top of the stairs. It's almost 11, and although they've been staying up late talking and watching TV, Meredith feels tired and achy.

"I'm just going to," she doesn't finish, but nods towards the upstairs, and is matched by a relieved smile.

"Me too. Long day or something, huh?" he asks, and they both try to fight off the awkwardness between them.

Meredith walks up the stairs first and when she's on the second floor, waits for Derek to catch up. He thinks she's expecting her usual good night kiss, and leans over to slant his lips over hers, lightly. Meredith reciprocates, and grabs handfuls of his shirt, keeping him close when he starts to pull away.

"Stay with me tonight," she suggests in a half-questioning, half-hopeful command.

"Ah," Derek breaks eye contact to look at her bedroom door, as if the answer will paint itself on the dark wood.

"Scared of me?" She grins, but it's on the fleeting side, as the nervousness takes over.

Derek cups her face in his hand, gently coaxing her to look up at him, and her pulse picks up.

"I want to sleep next to you," Meredith elaborates. "So please stay, if you will."

"I will," he says, kissing her temple. "I'll grab a quick shower and be right there."

Meredith breathes a sigh of relief that she too, can get under the warm spray of water and buy some time to think about how to do this, to think about what it is that she really wants to do.

She watches him pad down to the master bedroom, barefoot, and when he disappears, she walks straight into the bathroom in her room. She undresses slowly, laying her clothes on the counter and she can hear Derek flush the toilet in his bathroom. She is unnerved by his closeness suddenly, which is ridiculous given that she's lived a thin wall away from him for a week.

Her shower is brief and the water is hotter than it needs to be, but she finds it soothing as it burns and tingles a path down her neck. She's tied her hair up so that it doesn't get wet except for the odd escaped wisp. The rest of it is routine: dry off with the plush towel, moisturize, put on a pair of panties and t-shirt, and brush teeth. Meredith performs the tasks mechanically and considers putting on a pair of pajama pants now that she'll have company.

She quickly dismisses it.

When she is done, Derek is already in her room, sitting up against the headboard on "his" side of the bed, intently studying the ceiling above.

He hears her and takes a good, long look and she can swear she can actually hear him swallow. Hard. Maybe the pants would have been a good idea.

Meredith climbs into bed wordlessly, lying flat on her back, and Derek follows suit.

"I keep thinking, about that day when you left," she says softly and is grateful that he isn't interrupting, "and the way it felt, especially after. There were things then, on the tip of my tongue, you know? But I just couldn't."

"I did kind of boot it out of there, Mer," he offers up a generous way out.

"You did," she agrees. "But still, I thought them even before, and I think I didn't tell you enough. I really think I didn't."

Meredith feels the mattress shift and out of the corner of her eye she sees Derek move so he is lying down on his side, his head propped up by his arm.

"You said…you told me that I was the love of your life."

"You _are_ the love of my life, Meredith," he whispers.

"I," she sniffles, not because she's crying, but because she feels stuffed up all of a sudden, and she fears it might be the precursor.

Derek seeks her hand in the dark, and finding it under the covers, squeezes it reassuringly.

"I stood there and I was so shocked," she sniffles again and curses herself for being all Izzie-like. "Shocked! And why? I knew you were the love of my life too."

She doesn't dare look over at Derek because she knows him so well. He wears his heart on his sleeve and he has no poker face to speak of. And if he's weepy, then she'll never finish.

Despite being unable to look up at his face, she turns over until she is on her side, facing him and waits until his right arm wraps around her back and pulls her in, close to his body.

"I just never imagined myself like this. With a guy, maybe getting married, never. Whatever other things I saw myself doing, that was never one of them. And suddenly there's this guy, there's _you_," she clarifies, "and you start to invade my life and my bed and worse yet you take up residence inside me, in my head. And I can't get you out of there. I'd come home from work and I'd want to call you. I suddenly couldn't eat dinner alone anymore, which I'd done for 30 years without much trouble. You'd spend the night at the trailer and I wasn't sleeping."

"That's good, right?" He is encouraging, and she shifts to push closer to him.

"It's so good," she affirms. "I knew I fell in love with you the day I told you about my Mom, way back when. But we are people and we fall in love, with people who are bad for us, people who don't even know our name, people who don't feel the same way. It's what we do. But I _love_ you."

"Meredith-" he starts but is cut off by her index finger pressing against his lips.

"Tell me in a minute, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees, and kisses her fingertip while he's got the opportunity.

"When you left, I wish that I'd told you more often. That I loved you and that I was so glad you felt the same way."

"I knew that you loved me, Mer," Derek says gently, "I just wasn't sure that for you it was enough to make the fight worthwhile."

"It is," she insists, "I know that now. And you'll have to fight it out with me, Derek. No leaving and no trailer hide outs. You have to duke it out, even if you yell. You said you'd be there."

Her voice is small and he knows she's not accusing him, but it's still hard to hear and the lump in his throat doubles in size.

"I'll be there."

"Okay," she sighs.

"There's nobody else for me, Mer. I spent every day pining after you. Some would even call that pathetic. Mark certainly did."

"Mark loves you so much."

Meredith leans back and kisses Derek's jaw. She always did have a soft spot for Mark, but now she feels like she owes him for taking good care of Derek when she wasn't around to do it.

"I know. And I'm over it, the whole Addison thing. It just doesn't matter anymore."

"I'm really glad about that," she can't help but chuckle, given how the whole Addison situation very nearly ripped them apart for good.

"Have I apologized for that?" he jokes.

"Only a million times."

"And the…whore thing?" Derek struggles to get the words out.

"I'm over it. It just doesn't matter anymore." Meredith mimics his earlier words.

"Really? Because that was inexcusable."

"I'm not excusing it," she tells him, "I just love you and I know you don't think of me that way."

"You're still the love of my love, Mer," Derek sounds choked up, worse even than her earlier sniffles.

"Derek?" she calls out softly.

"Hmm?"

"Will you go out with me tomorrow night?"

"What?" He chuckles, a little relieved at the change of topic.

"I'd like to take you out to dinner," she explains, "it's called asking you out. Getting turned down can give a girl a real complex."

"Of course I'll go to dinner with you. Why are you even asking me?" He laughs.

"Because, I want to officially seduce you?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye and it's the second time tonight she thinks she can actually hear him swallowing.

"Can I confess something?"

"Yes," she tells him.

"I love you a little bit more right now."

* * *

It's quite late when Derek and Meredith enter the restaurant. It's full of people, heaving, and they have to wait at the bar until another couple has vacated their table. As the waiter shows them over to the bar, Meredith catches Derek, out of the corner of her eye, staring at her and checking her out. She smiles to herself, seeing his eyes hovering over her figure, glancing her up and down.

When they sit down at the bar, they're both smiling. Meredith giggles at Derek slightly, and he blushes, running his hand over his eyes, embarrassed. He looks around, wanting to order drinks and, still embarrassed, starts to apologize. But Meredith fixes him with a look ... a little amused, but determined, fixed on him, her eyes locked on his. A little challenging. And then she follows the outline of his body, slowly, taking him all in. His white shirt, black pants and jacket ... his body underneath. Her eyes fix on his again, and she half-smiles.

Derek catches the bartender's attention and to his surprise, Meredith orders a glass of white wine instead of hard liquor. When he asks her about it, she simply shrugs, and he's too entranced by the flimsy, sheer material covering her shoulders to give her drink more thought. The material is pale pink and nearly transparent and reminds him of fine mosquito netting in the tropics. This makes him think of hot nights, small beds, open skies and hordes of crickets intent on keeping you up.

He rests his elbow on the bar and stares at her. There's no smile on his face now. He's just looking at her, thinking about how pretty she is, and how hot he finds her. Meredith's eyes are similarly locked on Derek's, staring at him over the tip of her glass as she sips her wine.

His eyes slip to her breasts ... her cleavage which strains and peaks, round and soft ... and she smirks at him from behind her glass. They can both feel the tension building; no words are said, just the two of them staring intently at each other.

The waiter returns, interrupting, breaking the moment.

"Sir, your table is ready," he tells Derek, and politely waits for them to rise from their seats. Derek motions to Meredith to go ahead and she follows the waiter into the dining room of the restaurant.

The waiter takes them to their table, but Meredith keeps glancing at Derek over her shoulder, while he blatantly stares at her body, clad in the pink, feminine dress, and catches her backwards glances.

Derek winks at her.

They take their seats, and wait for the waiter to bring the drinks they've ordered. Despite the interruption, their eyes are just locked. Meredith glances downwards and smirks, challenging Derek to stare at her breasts again. He smiles, gives in, looks down. He glances back up at her eyes, slightly embarrassed but ... pleased at how light she has made the evening and how she is choosing to be sultry, knowing the effect it will have on him.

Meredith smiles back at Derek, leans forward a little towards him ... he leans closer, too. It feels like the air between them is getting hotter, and Derek's throat constricts and he finds it difficult to breathe.

He can't breathe when she's looking at him this way.

The waiter brings their new drinks over and puts them on the table. They barely say a word to him, unable to look away from each other. The table is small and Derek leans closer until he can smell her faint perfume. They reach for their drinks…it might be accidental on Meredith's part, but it definitely isn't on his. He means to do it. He just can't wait any longer to make some kind of contact with her, to touch her.

Meredith's knuckles brush against the back of Derek's hand and he takes a slight breath at the shocking contact. He feels like he's waited a lifetime for this, but all those months he spent writing to her and talking to her and dreaming of her, he never actually expected this to happen. He runs his hand over hers, starting to stroke.

He feels like the dam has burst.

Meredith slides her foot up the inside of Derek's leg, to his knee, then back down. Her foot is bare, having shed her strappy sandals under the table. On its second journey to Derek's knee, he slips his free hand under the table, stroking down Meredith's foot and up the inside of her leg.

Her skin is warm, soft under his hand.

Above the table, there's little distance now between their faces. Derek's hand strokes Meredith's, their eyes, unblinking, gaze deeply into each other. His other hand slides up her leg, to the knee…higher, slowly moving up the inside of her thigh, stretching now. Still moving higher, halfway up her thigh, higher and higher under the skirt of her dress. So close now.

Meredith's eyes are dark, smoky, and her pupils dilate. She subconsciously licks her lips and the sight of the wet, pink tip of her tongue, darting past her rose lips leaves Derek in a tizzy.

The waiter returns to take their orders.

They look at each other, and the decision's made.

"Bill, please!"

It's around twenty minutes before they get back to Derek's apartment. The taxi is fast, but even so, it's all they can do to keep their hands off each other on the ride home. They aren't wholly successful. The last two minutes of the journey, Derek's arms are wrapped around Meredith's shoulders, and their lips meet again and again. Soft and fleeting at first, until Derek cups the back of Meredith's head, anchoring it in place and she submits to his insistence and slips her tongue past his lips. The tension is too much and their awareness of the cab driver is only cursory.

Derek pays for the cab as Meredith steps out to the curb, feeling like she is woozy, unstable on her feet, inexperienced in walking around in heels. Drunk on something other than alcohol tonight. She reaches the front door of Derek's brownstone and waits as he reaches into his pocket for the key.

He catches her eye again, and smiling, puts his hand on her shoulder, and pushes her back against the wall next to the door. He kisses her; it's long, deep, slow. His hand clutches at her lower back, then slips to the cusp of her behind, pressing into the material of her dress.

Meredith moves to unlock the door, but all the time, they're kissing. At first, his mouth can't get enough of her lips. Then his greed and ambition grow, and he moves his lips across her cheek, to her ear, down the thin, stretched skin of her neck, to the hollow of her shoulder.

The door clicks open behind them and they push through it. One of them kicks it shut and neither bothers with locking themselves in for the night. Derek is already pulling off his jacket as they continue to kiss, hungry, moving backwards across the floor to the stairs. They stumble upstairs, two steps at a time, and it's an awkward mess of limbs that frustrates Derek and has him pick Meredith up. She squeals in surprise and he laughs with her as he scales the last steps and stands on the landing for a moment, the shortest of moments.

On a whim, he decides to take her to her room, where they spent last night together. He hasn't minded sleeping in his and Addison's old room. His brain knew it was weird, but he just stopped giving much thought to that part of his life long ago. But now he didn't want to lay Meredith down, naked in front of him, in a bed he shared with someone else. Yes, he'd done it in his trailer, but this was his second chance, his only remaining chance and he wanted it to happen between four walls that held no memories.

They just about make it through the bedroom door, and Meredith nudges it closed behind them. Derek pushes her back up against the wall, kissing her mouth. Their tongues circle each other, probing, sucking on each others' lips.

Derek smiles at Meredith and starts to kiss down her neck, over her shoulder, and down her chest. Lower. Slowly tracing kisses down her dress, over the material covering her smooth, flat belly, down the thigh he's exposed by pushing her dress up with his hands. He hits cool, smooth skin eventually and it is a shock to his system.

Meredith clutches at fistfuls of her dress, and pulls it over her head.

"Mer," Derek calls out reverently, against her skin, looking up at her breasts restrained by an ivory bra that very nearly matches her skin tone. For some reason he finds this even more arousing and he leaves it in place. For now.

His hands travel up her legs, over her calves, the outside of her knees, slowly moving up. Derek slides them higher, over Meredith's hips. He kisses Meredith's stomach, just above her lacy thong, while his fingers hook under it and slowly pulls it down around her ankles.

She steps out of the thong and kicks off her shoes, which land with a thud on the wood floor at the foot of the large bed.

Derek kisses lower, lapping her belly button. It's a sensitive, ticklish spot and Meredith's giggle is short-lived because the next moment, Derek's tongue dips lower, and sweeps along her closed lips. He reaches up with his hand and opens her folds, licking them, pushing and probing deeper for her clit. She gasps as he finds it and he feels her resting her hand on the back of his hair.

Her slender fingers tangle in his hair as he swirls his tongue over her clit, making circles. She is already very wet, and he easily slips his index finger inside her. When he slips a second finger past her folds, her breathing changes into a series of pants, gasps. Meredith's thighs tremble, and Derek pushes his tongue insistently, harder over her clit. Her fingers knot into his hair, tugging gently while Derek pushes his fingers in and out of her, stroking her walls along the way.

A scrape of her fingernails over his scalp and he knows she is about to come. He is undeterred, moving his lips up and down over her exposed folds, massaging them while his tongue pushes, flicks, swirls.

But for the deep sigh, Meredith barely makes a sound and her orgasm seems to last for minutes. Her walls clutch his fingers, again and again, with slowing frequency. The quivering becomes faint and then disappears altogether. Her eyelids are lazy, barely open, and Derek knows she's not fully aware of him yet.

He takes the opportunity to guide her back towards the bed and pushes her on her back. Her eyes register his face above hers and she starts to rouse from her post-orgasmic haze. Meredith retaliates and rolls them over until she is on top of him, her legs straddling him. She kisses him hard, as passionate as she's ever been, even before. _Before_ before. She pulls his shirt open one button at a time as she kisses him, her tongue deep in his mouth. She kisses over his chest, and her fingertips fly over his nipples lightly. Her mouth moves down, over his stomach. Down past his navel. Down.

Derek is hard and erect as she pulls his pants and boxers off.

It hits him then: how many nights he lay there and did this alone. Stroked himself to relieve the need he felt. And as his hips would rise up and off the mattress, and his buttocks tensed, in that short, fleeting moment before an explosion painted the inside of his eyelids in a palette of colours, it was her. Always her, and her moans and the hair spilling over his abdomen as she took him in her mouth. No magazine, no movie, no stunning supermodel walking out of Mark's office with a pair of perfect, new breasts could take her place.

All those months he wanted it to be her and when Meredith takes his cock in one hand, he allows himself to be lost in the sensations. She pumps him once, twice, then wraps her hand tightly around his base. Her free hand cups his balls, testing their weight, rolling them in her palm, outlining their shape with the pad of her thumb. She leans down, and begins to lick a straight line from his base to the tip. Meredith's tongue circles his head before she wraps her lips around it, sucking deeply.

Derek is almost ready to come when he feels himself hitting the back of her throat, and then she withdraws from him, robbing him of the warm, wet depths of her mouth.

"Merrrrrr…." he hisses impatiently, dying for the touch to return.

He opens his eyes to find her unhooking her bra and letting the straps slide down her long arms. Suddenly he can't imagine why he ever left it on and reaches to remove the flimsy piece of fabric. Her breasts are small and fit into the palms of his hands perfectly. Just right. Derek sits up and begins to kiss and suck on her breasts, her nipples. His teeth graze the puckered tips once, twice, three times, delighting in how the dark pink peaks stiffen in response.

Meredith lifts slightly off the bed, trying to get closer. Derek's right hand cups her breast gently as he plants light kisses all over it, gradually drawing closer to the nipple, which he sucks into his mouth and slowly, seductively begins to work his tongue over as he carefully sucks the flushed, salty skin.

His tongue swirls around the nipple, flicking it, pushing it back into her breast, his lips sucking it back out.

"Oh….." she lets out of the back of her throat as she arches into him.

When she places the palms of her hands flat over his chest and pushes him back down on the bed, he's taken by surprise.

"I want you inside me now," she whispers, but her voice is strong, unwavering.

He is hypnotized as he watches her move over his erection. She straddles his waist, takes him in her hand and slowly, tentatively slides him inside her. Even if she hadn't told him that there have been no men since him, he would have known. She is tighter than he remembers her and it only weakens his already non-existent resolve.

For a minute or two, he watches the changing expressions on her face. The briefest grimace as she adjusts to his size, her eyes widening as he shifts ever so slightly inside her, her white teeth scraping her bottom lip, biting down.

Meredith doesn't need a lot of time to start moving up and down on top of Derek. The pace is fast from the outset, the angle changed, optimized as she leans forward. This also lets her clit rub against his pelvis, eliciting a satisfied moan.

Derek's hands hold onto Meredith's hips and he thrusts deep inside her as she moves above him. His hands are firm on her ass, squeezing it in time with his thrusts. Their movements gradually pick up pace and power.

For the next few minutes, neither is able to look anywhere but into the other's eyes. Derek wants to kiss her, but his breathing is getting more ragged and louder, and the moans begin to escape from his lips.

Suddenly, Meredith leans forward and braces herself on her hands, resting on the bed on either side of Derek's body.

"Oh God," she whispers in his ear and he thrusts a couple more times as her body tenses around him. His hardness fills her, and an electric shock rushes through them both. Her insides flex around him and the third time her muscles squeeze him, he can no longer contain himself. Derek comes hard, but tries to draw it out as long as he can for her. Meredith makes no sound, her breath caught in her throat, her head buried in Derek's neck.

Derek's hands run up Meredith's back, and he withdraws, then pulls her into a tight hug. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, closes his eyes and leaves his lips to linger. He's been starved far too long. Not of sex, but of her.

Meredith finally rolls over and they lie facing each other.

"Still got it," Derek grunts, satisfied.

Meredith extends her arm so that her hand is cupping his face and she smiles at him easily. Happily. She has the power to elicit the same quixotic reaction in him and she makes good use of it. They are naked, exhausted and sticky, but grinning like fools at each other. Life is most perfect when it's messy, he thinks.

"I really love you," she sighs, "and not just because you've still got it."

Derek reciprocates the feeling again and again and promises to recite it even in his sleep.

"Can I hear you even then?" she muses.

"Love you, love you, love you," Derek whispers, letting his voice drop to a barely audible whisper.

They run their fingers through each others' hair, and then they start to kiss. Slowly at first, gently. But then the steam gathers, and it gets hotter and hotter and the patience which settled in after the first round dissipates.

It's not long before Derek is on top of Meredith and they are doing it again. Their sweat-slick bodies move together in unison, Meredith's breasts pressed against his chest, her thighs wrapped around hers. She accepts him readily and he holds her close. They are slick and drenched in sweat, and he feels as if she's slipping through his hands, as her naked skin slides beneath his body.

They repeat this dance a third time, later, and even when that's over and they are both spent, they hold each other and kiss long into the night.

They want to hold each other.

They want to do it again.


End file.
